


You're All Mine

by definekimjongdae (junhyung)



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alcohol, Barebacking, Bathing/Washing, Bathroom Sex, Cat/Human Hybrids, Hybrids, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Multiple Orgasms, Self-Lubrication, Sex Toys, Switching, refer to notes for side pairings and characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-22 05:24:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9585344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/junhyung/pseuds/definekimjongdae
Summary: Chanyeol lives with four cat hybrids and falls for one of them. The twist? He’s allergic to cats.





	

**Author's Note:**

> originally written for [yeolliepopday](http://yeolliepopday.livejournal.com/).
> 
> title from J Rabbit’s Monday to Sunday. beta-ed by Will.
> 
> warnings: hybrids (cat, dog, bunny), switching, heat sex, multiple orgasms, self-lubrication, knot, use of toys, barebacking, bathroom sex, alcohol, past members as characters  
> pairings: chenyeol, with side!baekxing, xiuhan and krisho  
> characters: chanyeol, jongdae, exo ensemble, all past exo members, pentagon's jinho, and brief mentions of other idols

Chanyeol is generally a lenient person.

He’s understanding, considerate, tolerant, doesn’t demand for a refund or throw a fit whenever the waiter or cook gets his order mixed up, doesn’t get all furious whenever one of his subordinates gets on his nerves, because everybody makes mistakes. Chanyeol gets it. He really does.

But this – there has _got_ to be a mistake.

“There has got to be a mistake,” Chanyeol tells the impassive young man on the receptionist desk who’s sporting an impressive array of colours on his hair as he stares back at Chanyeol uninterestedly.

“Did you state anything regarding it on the application form?” asks rainbow-haired guy – Oh Sehun, the tag attached to his breast pocket says – as he continues to stare at Chanyeol in the most bored way possible.

“Well, no, but-”

“Then I apologise, but it is not our fault.”

Chanyeol would call the guy out for cutting him off mid-sentence, but he’s more preoccupied with the matter at hand now, more than anything.

“The regulation clearly stated the No Pets Policy when I last checked so how was I supposed to know that I should be mentioning, redundantly, that I don’t want cats in my living area?”

“Cat hybrids are not pets,” replies Sehun, almost monotonously.

“I-” Clearly, that wasn’t what Chanyeol was trying to say, had not meant it to be rude or anything, but Sehun’s response calms him a bit, knocks some sense to his head. “No, they’re not. I’m sorry.” A deep breath, then, “Is there no other available unit?”

Sehun looks marginally apologetic. It’s a fresh addition to the stoic face he’s been sporting for the past five minutes. “There isn’t. In fact, you’re our most recent tenant. Grabbed our last vacant room. We’ll inform you as soon as possible if there happens to be any changes. We truly apologise.”

Chanyeol takes another deep breath, exhales slowly, and manages a faint nod. “That’s fine. It’s fine. Thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

 

 

Chanyeol hesitates, hand merely inches away from the door handle. His luggage is still here, by the doorstep, where it exactly was a while ago when Chanyeol left it in favour of rushing over to the receptionist desk and demanding for a unit change.

The first time Chanyeol met his flatmates less than ten minutes ago, he’d been greeted by a confused yet welcoming smile which he would have politely returned if not for the glaringly unmissable pair of cat ears twitching curiously at him, and then he’d only had a moment of taking in the remaining three cat hybrids lounging at, presumably, the living room, before he was bolting away and down the stairs.

The door has probably been locked again. So Chanyeol presses the doorbell and waits, huffing as he heaves his luggage up so he can do this as fast as possible. Safety first.

Chanyeol has seen the floor plan, so he at least has a rough idea of where his room is; it’s the only one of the four that is located to the left of the main door.

The moment the door opens – still the same guy with the welcoming smile and twitchy _cat_ ears – Chanyeol brushes past him and heads to the left. He ignores the hybrid’s confused yelp, tries not to meet the three pairs of eyes staring inquiringly at him, passes the kitchen, and lets out a relieved sigh the moment he spots the door which, true to the floor plan, is indeed the only one. He promptly gets in the room and closes the door shut behind him.

The room is, to Chanyeol’s relief, very impersonal. There’s a fairly made bed to one side and a cupboard and desk on the other, but that’s it. He can only hope none of the cat hybrids had been in the room anywhere within the past two weeks. Chanyeol is just lucky he managed to get in the room in seconds, five at most. Who knows how much _cat_ hair – or is it fur? Is there a difference – is littered around the house, outside his room. His nose isn’t itching as of yet, so that’s a good sign.

A knock on the door startles Chanyeol from his thoughts and he turns to stare at the door cautiously.

Another knock and Chanyeol has no choice but to walk up to the door and open it lest he start planting a bad first impression in their heads. For all he knows, he probably already has.

It’s the previous guy again. “Hello,” cat guy chirps, smile now a little strained but not less welcoming.

“Hi,” Chanyeol says stiffly.

Cat – _cat_ , Chanyeol’s mind emphasises alarmingly for him – guy’s eyes widen slightly, and Chanyeol takes a heedful step back.

“I’m Junmyeon, by the way,” he says, with a tiny furrow to his brows, like he’s contemplating to extend his hand for a friendly handshake.

Chanyeol is thankful he doesn’t. Chanyeol wouldn’t accept it if he did. He has never gotten hives, but he’s pretty sure skin contact simply means he’s asking for it to invade his body in reds and itchiness and all things horrible.

“Chanyeol,” he replies curtly, forcing on a tight smile.

Junmyeon smiles back. It looks extremely friendly, like friendly smiles are made to fit the exact composition of his face, and Chanyeol leans back a bit, suddenly apprehensive because Junmyeon looks like he’s a second away from jumping in for a hug.

“Nice to meet you, Chanyeol.”

Chanyeol can’t say the same. He was about to reply with, “I’m allergic to cats,” but decides against it, courtesy of the more well-mannered half of his brain. It might come off rude, especially when Chanyeol considers how he’d feel if some cat told him that they were allergic to humans.

Thankfully, Junmyeon doesn’t look like he’s expecting for a reply. Instead he hands Chanyeol a key, saying, “This is our spare key. The landlord has your copy, but you can have this for now.”

Chanyeol receives the key with the tip of his thumb and forefinger, making sure there’s minimal contact involved.

“Thank you.”

One last welcoming smile from Junmyeon before Chanyeol closes the door, tossing the key onto the desk as soon as it clicks shut.

 

 

Chanyeol does not hate hybrids, not even a tiny bit.

His partner at work is a bunny hybrid. Chanyeol hasn’t had so many partners, but so far, he can certainly say that he’s extremely happy to be given the chance to partner up with Yixing. He’s a talented performer, a great lyricist to the point that Chanyeol envies him sometimes, and he’s warm and easygoing enough that Chanyeol finds comfort in just working by him when critics get harsh and nights stretch too far.

Baekhyun is a friend Chanyeol treasures as much as he does Kyungsoo. The three of them have strived and learned and grown together since high school, trying to get each other to take their studies more seriously, consoling each other in times of need, skipping classes, showering together, sleeping on the same bed with their limbs tangled and covered in gross, drying sweat after late night adventures at the convenience store or neighbourhood basketball court because that’s all their minimal pocket money can afford.

Two humans and one hybrid, and Chanyeol can never imagine living without this, without their constant teasing and pestering and physical attacks despite Chanyeol being considerably taller. Baekhyun is a dog hybrid with a corgi as a pet, and as weird as it can seem sometimes, it has never deterred Chanyeol from anything, from cherishing and adoring Baekhyun as much as he does Kyungsoo because they’re the best of friends and fuck differences, Chanyeol would never consider trading the two for anything else.

There’s also Jinho, a dog hybrid Chanyeol has known since he was scouted by the company, a dear friend he goes to for comforting hugs and warm cuddles or just calming talks over coffee.

But Baekhyun and Jinho are dog hybrids, and Yixing is a bunny hybrid, and, well, Chanyeol isn’t allergic to bunnies or dogs.

Chanyeol is, however, allergic to cats. He was nine when he was taken to the doctors for coughing and wheezing, and then they’d done some testing on him that he can barely remember anymore, given him antihistamines, and told him to avoid physical contact with and, as much as possible, loitering around any area that has recently been visited by those of the feline kind.

So it’s only reasonable that _living_ with _four cat_ hybrids makes him apprehensive. So extremely apprehensive that when a succession of knocks sounds at the door, Chanyeol jumps on the bed, instinctively clutching at his chest and giving a dirty look at the door, before he catches himself. He’s not that childish.

Chanyeol opens the door to a different guy. This one looks more clean-cut, seems like he could be younger than Junmyeon, definitely stronger brows. He gives Chanyeol a once-over, and Chanyeol has never felt this scrutinized since the mandatory medical check-up he had to take for university.

“Hey,” the guy chirps. “I hope I’m not disrupting anything. Thought it’s high time for an introduction, so, hello, I’m Minseok.”

Minseok extends a hand for Chanyeol to shake. Chanyeol stares at it, still very much cautious and now a little intimidated by the amused smile on Minseok’s face. Minseok actually _waits_ , holds his hand in place until Chanyeol has no choice but to take it. He lets go after three firm shakes, and Chanyeol lets out a shuddery breath that he hopes Minseok doesn’t notice.

“Chanyeol. Park Chanyeol.”

“Alright,” Minseok affirms. “Are you free to discuss some house rules with us?”

At this point, Chanyeol expects Minseok to look over Chanyeol’s shoulder, either subtly or unabashedly, to check if he’s busy unpacking. Minseok doesn’t. He waits for Chanyeol to answer, his stance polite and proper but easy, indisputable. Besides, nothing has happened since the handshake.

So Chanyeol agrees.

Chanyeol walks into the living room to find Junmyeon and one other cat guy sharing a couch, and another sitting on the carpeted floor, slouching across the coffee table with his chin resting on his palms, eyes following Chanyeol’s every movement attentively.

Minseok takes the stool, so Chanyeol takes it as cue to occupy the armchair. It’s as if they’ve agreed on deliberately leaving it empty for Chanyeol to sit on, to be interrogated on as four pairs of eyes stare at him and four pairs of cat ears twitch inquiringly.

“I take it you’ve figured where your room is, so we’ll skip that part,” Junmyeon says, breaking the short silence. “That’s Minseok,” he introduces, rather redundantly, pointing across the room to Minseok who doesn’t tear his gaze away from Chanyeol, “I’m Junmyeon,” and Chanyeol wonders if Junmyeon is the type for tedious, long-winded talks, “Jongdae,” his hand resting briefly on the thigh of the cat guy beside him, “and that’s Jongin,” he finishes, motioning to the one lounging on the carpet. “In age order.”

Oh. So looks can be deceiving, after all.

“Park Chanyeol,” Chanyeol says, because it’s only fair.

Minseok’s tail curls around one of the stool legs, Jongin blinks at him with sleepy eyes, and Junmyeon gives him an acknowledging nod. “We’re all brothers,” Junmyeon says. “Surname’s Kim.”

Chanyeol could have guessed that. They all look like they could be related. The fur colour is roughly the same (ash brown, Jongin’s a little darker, and Jongdae’s so dark it looks almost black). Minseok and Junmyeon have similar smiling faces, though Junmyeon’s cheeks are significantly more prominent, and Jongdae has a curl to the ends of his lips that the others don’t. Chanyeol might be a little enticed to that last one.

“How old are you?” asks Jongdae, his tone challenging, cheeky.

Chanyeol raises a brow at him, swiping at the tip of his nose with the back of his hand absent-mindedly. “I’m a 92-liner.”

Jongdae smiles, rather triumphantly. “We’re the same age, then.”

It takes Chanyeol by surprise, the realisation that Minseok is actually older than he is, (the oldest in the room, in fact) but Chanyeol is too enthralled by the way Jongdae stares back at him to notice, gaze unwavering, the way his adam’s apple bobs whenever he talks.

“Then I hope you won’t mind me skipping the formalities.”

“Not at all.”

A snap of Minseok’s fingers tugs at Chanyeol’s attention. Jongdae merely smirks, a smug look on his face that Chanyeol can’t quite decipher.

They move on to the house rules. Junmyeon lists them all, mostly to be expected stuff that falls under being a civil human being. Clean up after yourself. Don’t be a jerk. Everything not in the bedrooms is shared property. If you pass out with your shoes on, shaming is fair game.

Chanyeol can handle those.

What he can’t handle, though, is the unexpected succession of sneezes that overtakes him in the middle of Junmyeon’s discussion on house chores. Chanyeol curses under his breath, before another sneeze takes him by surprise.

Fucking hell.

When Chanyeol recovers, nose suddenly itching like mad, Junmyeon looks half concerned and half affronted, Minseok and Jongdae watch in what could be feigned indifference, and Jongin looks over warily, has possibly inched away from his original position just a few of feet away from Chanyeol.

“Excuse me,” Chanyeol says, only a little sheepish, and more regretful than anything. Why the fuck did he ever think that living with four cat hybrids might not be that bad?

 

 

Chanyeol wakes up the next morning to a dawning realisation of more problems he hasn’t thought through, like breakfast. Chanyeol has not thought breakfast through.

In his previous apartment, he had Kyungsoo to split cooking duties with. They both make good food, so it wasn’t a problem.

Here, Chanyeol realises with a sinking feeling in his chest, that he really, really can’t live with cat hybrids, let alone four of them. The odds of none of the four hybrids being able to cook is small, so that’s the least of Chanyeol’s worries. The thing is that Chanyeol can’t possibly share eating utensils with them, use the seats they’ve sat on, the tables they’ve had dinner on. Sure, he stepped in their living room just yesterday, sat on their armchair and spent a good fifteen minutes exchanging pleasantries and whatnot with them, but breakfast is different. Breakfast involves food, and there is no way Chanyeol’s ever risking anything that goes in his system.

Chanyeol leaves after showering, (he uses the bathroom right next to his room, hoping the four hybrids are used to occupying the one on the other side of the unit) nodding faintly at Minseok who’s making coffee in the kitchen, seeming only half awake.

He stops by a Chinese restaurant and orders a to-go fried rice for breakfast. Being one of the key producers grants him special price for SM’s cafeteria food, but most of it tastes like shit, and even the decent tasting chicken katsu he usually has for lunch gets boring.

Yixing greets him with a cheerful pat on the back when he stops by Chanyeol’s studio to hand him some files they’ve been planning to collaborate on. Chanyeol eats breakfast while checking the files out – a couple of songs with fully written lyrics and plain accompaniment, and another consisting of a hummed melody over soft guitar sounds, all in Yixing’s soothing voice.

At a little before noon, Jinho arrives with coffee, envelopes Chanyeol in a customary tight hug. (“You always smell so good,” Jinho murmurs into Chanyeol’s neck before pulling away, tail wagging blithely behind him as he hands Chanyeol a cup of iced americano.)

They work on a song Jinho has written the lyrics to and they’ve both co-composed for, a possible candidate for Jinho’s new mini album. They grab a quick lunch at the cafeteria (“Do you ever not have chicken katsu for lunch?”) and Chanyeol spends the rest of his day arranging and reviewing songs in his studio, burying himself in music, doing the one thing he loves even as the weight of deadlines prods insistently at his shoulders.

 

 

Chanyeol gets home at half past eight to find the four brothers having dinner at the dining table. He freezes, the leftover joy from work seeping out of him at an alarming rate as the sinking feeling from the day before returns to his chest.

“Have you had dinner yet?” Junmyeon asks, a hopeful smile on his face.

There is a fifth serving on the table. Fuck.

“No,” Chanyeol manages. He’s already feeling for his phone at the back pocket of his jeans, ready to punch in speed dial one (Kyungsoo) or two (Jinho) if he ever starts coughing incessantly, or, worse, wheezing until it hurts to breathe.

“Then come.”

Chanyeol gets to the empty seat beside Jongin, just across Jongdae. When he drags his seat forward, shifting to a more comfortable position, he thinks he catches Jongin wince beside him. Jongin is staring down resolutely at his meal when Chanyeol turns to check, so he brushes the thought off.

Dinner is spaghetti bolognese. This should be appetizing, but Chanyeol finds himself worrying over the very utensils he’s going to have to use and make physical contact with, utensils that go _inside_ his mouth, utensils that touch the food that goes in his system. What if- Chanyeol is jerked out of his thoughts when Minseok flashes him a faintly inquiring look, and that’s all it takes for Chanyeol to dig in.

The spaghetti bolognese is surprisingly delicious. Dinner starts off quiet, the atmosphere a little tense, but soon enough the table shifts into comfortable talk that mostly involves Junmyeon and Minseok and occasional quips from Jongdae, and Chanyeol finds himself relaxing.

“This is really tasty,” Chanyeol remarks, part compliment and part gratitude, looking around the table. Junmyeon is the only one to beam at him, so Chanyeol asks, “Did you make this? It’s really good.”

Across him, Jongdae chokes a laugh into his spaghetti, and Junmyeon’s face falls a little, his grin turning into a sheepish smile.

“Junmyeon doesn’t know how to cook shit,” Jongdae says, and if anything, Junmyeon looks apologetic, a fond smile directed at his brother.

Minseok is the one to answer the unspoken question in Chanyeol’s raised brows. “Jongdae made this,” he says, only speaking what’s necessary, like he’s a complete opposite of Junmyeon.

“Oh.”

When Chanyeol looks across the table, Jongdae is smiling up at him, eyes sparkling under the lighting and a tiny bit of red sauce smeared over one of his kitty curls. “I’m glad you like it,” he says, a little softer than his usual loud, ringing tone, like it’s directed only for Chanyeol to hear. (Chanyeol’s heart might have skipped a beat there, but that’s not the point.)

Jongin gobbles up his food like he hasn’t had breakfast and lunch. Chanyeol notices because he’s sitting right beside him, and once in a while Jongin would scoot away from Chanyeol in his seat, until his chair hits the leg of the dining table.

And when Chanyeol sneezes once, excusing himself under his breath and resisting the urge to curse at his god damn allergies for acting up again, Jongin gets up from his seat so abruptly Junmyeon jumps in his chair, scooped up spaghetti slipping off his fork. Chanyeol would snort at the pathetic expression taking over Junmyeon’s face, but he’s distracted by Jongin suddenly kittering away so fast to put his dish in the sink, ready to bolt out of the room.

“It’s your turn to wash the dishes tonight, Jongin,” Minseok reminds him, the tone both calm and reprimanding at the same time (Chanyeol doesn’t know how he manages it) and Jongin stops in his track, reluctantly shuffling toward his original position by the sink with shoulders slumped before reaching over the counter to retrieve the silicon gloves.

Junmyeon blinks at his spaghetti, diving in with his fork again. Jongdae snickers into his meal, and Chanyeol is a little distracted by it he almost misses the way Jongin would occasionally look over his shoulder at Chanyeol. Chanyeol would ask, but the spaghetti is tasty, and he’s still a little hungry, so he fixes his attention to his meal and finishes his food.

(Later, when Chanyeol walks over to hand in his dish for Jongin to wash, Jongin inches away from him so noticeably Chanyeol decides not to ask lest Jongin goes full jumpy mode, instead places his dish in the sink silently. He sneezes twice on his way out of the kitchen, and he didn’t exactly see it happen, but Jongdae breaks into a fit of laughter behind him, so Chanyeol guesses, Jongin must have jolted in surprise or something. Chanyeol is sure he has never met a more skittish person.)

 

 

Chanyeol wakes up early the next morning, so early he doesn’t see Minseok brewing coffee in the kitchen when he walks out and heads to work. He gets ham and egg sandwich from the 24-hour convenience store just a block down the SM building and makes himself comfortable in his studio, nestled in his pillowed seat and clicking away in his computer, until Jinho stops by for discussions on his song.

“Hey, buddy,” Chanyeol greets him, opening his arms wide for Jinho to snuggle in.

Jinho steps in a little too willingly, crushing Chanyeol’s middle in a tight hug and leaning in to bury his face in Chanyeol’s neck, the usual. When he pulls away, Chanyeol thinks he catches a subtle frown flash on Jinho’s face, though he can’t be sure, the dog hybrid already smiling when Chanyeol looks over properly.

“Coffee,” he says, extending a cup of iced americano.

“You know, you don’t always have to buy me coffee,” Chanyeol tells him, accepting the offered drink, anyway.

“Stop complaining and thank me instead. Sometimes I feel like I know what your body needs more than you do,” Jinho rebukes, staring up at Chanyeol with finality, even if the warmth in his smile betrays it.

Chanyeol ruffles his hair, scratching lightly at one of the ears flopped neatly atop his head, and sighs fondly when Jinho leans into the touch. “I’m not sleep-deprived.”

“I know. But you _want_ the caffeine. I _know_.”

That shuts Chanyeol up and Jinho flashes a winning smile at him because, well, he’s not wrong.

Lunch time finds Chanyeol getting cheese burger from the cafeteria. He takes huge bites from it as he makes his way to the home depot just across the road, tossing the empty wrapper into the bin outside before walking into the building. He buys a couple of cups (one can only get so far with bottled water) and some eating utensils, complete with the plates and bowls.

He also stops by the pets section to peer at the hamsters on display in glass cases, and he might have returned to his studio at well past the end of lunch break, but nobody dares point it out when he’s one of the company’s key producers, so Chanyeol enters his studio and sits back on his pillowed seat alright, patting satisfiedly at the large plastic bag of eating utensils perched proudly on his desk.

 

 

“Come in.”

Minseok is typing away in his computer when Chanyeol pushes the door open. He looks up from his computer, raising his brows in mild surprise.

“Oh. Hey. What’s the matter?”

Chanyeol fidgets, rests his head against the door frame. “I got myself some eating utensils. They’re the white ones, with the gold outer lining. Just hoping that you won’t mind me using those personally. I’ll wash them myself, too.”

Minseok blinks, but doesn’t make any noise of disapproval. “Alright, that’s cool,” he affirms, nodding. “Oh, right. The landlord will be here at noon tomorrow to hand you your copy of the key. If you can’t receive it yourself, I’m sure Jongin will be staying home tomorrow. Just make sure you inform him beforehand.”

The second door down the corridor leads to the room Junmyeon shares with Jongin. It’s Junmyeon who answers his knock, opening the door wider with a questioning yet kind smile. Chanyeol returns it with one that he hopes looks as friendly as the one on Junmyeon’s face, and smiles at Jongin, too.

“Hi, Chanyeol,” Junmyeon says, welcoming as always.

“Hey, Junmyeon.” There are two beds in the room, some other furnitures, and a huge shelf by the wall across the door. It’s nearly entirely filled with comic books. Chanyeol wonders who between the two brothers spends his spare time reading Japanese manga, and then takes notice of the book Junmyeon has in his grip. It’s a One Piece comic book.

It’s been so long since Chanyeol thought of One Piece. He still has their figurines back in his parents’ house, but the passion didn’t last. He’d stopped at volume ninety-something because his head just couldn’t handle the huge number of characters Eiichiro Oda keeps on adding to the series.

“Do you need help on something?”

Jongin turns back to where he’s probably doing homework on his study desk, and Chanyeol shifts his attention back to Junmyeon who’s still looking expectantly at him. “Just stopping by to tell you that I have my own eating utensils. I’ve put those in the kitchen. I hope you won’t mind me doing that, and I’ll do the dishes myself, too.”

The eyes staring back at Chanyeol are so round, a little shocked, maybe slightly disappointed. “Oh. Oh, okay. Whatever makes you comfortable.” A grin that makes Junmyeon’s cheeks bulge up like ripe, rosy peaches, then, “You can always come to us if you need any help on anything.”

“Alright, thanks.” See, that wasn’t so hard.

Minseok in the first room, and Junmyeon and Jongin in the second. That can only mean that the room at the end is Jongdae’s, and Chanyeol pauses before rapping his knuckles on the door.

“Yeah?” is called out in a muffled voice from the other side and Chanyeol pushes the door open to find Jongdae on his bed, sitting cross-legged on his comforter with his laptop perched across him.

“Hey,” Chanyeol says, taking in the way Jongdae’s tail curls into his comforter, bunching the fabric up a little.

“Hi, Chanyeol,” Jongdae chirps, the collarbones peeking out of the low neck of his shirt alluring and the smile on his face bright, captivating. “What’s up?”

“I got myself some eating utensils,” Chanyeol tells him, going a little unnecessarily nervous as Jongdae blinks up at him, tail thumping lightly on the sheets. “I’ll be using those from now on, and I’ll wash them myself, too. Just stopping by to inform you that.”

“Okay,” Jongdae says, not missing a beat. Chanyeol makes to close the door, but halts when Jongdae calls out, “Chanyeol?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you want to watch a movie?” he offers. “I’m thinking Suicide Squad.”

There’s a couple of reasons to why Chanyeol considers saying yes. There is the tempting idea of curling in bed beside Jongdae, the sheets under him soft but Jongdae’s hair against his neck softer, as the movie plays on Jongdae’s laptop screen. There’s also the fact that Chanyeol has been wanting to watch Suicide Squad for so long and never had the time to, and Jongdae looks like he could be good company.

But there is a whole lot more reasons to why Chanyeol should be saying no. Firstly, it’s cat territory. Chanyeol would be out of his mind to be getting anywhere near, let alone inside Jongdae’s room. Secondly, Jongdae is cat, even if half so, and Chanyeol should definitely not be watching a two-hour long movie on a cat’s bed that probably holds ten folds more cat hair than is needed to trigger Chanyeol’s immune system. Thirdly-

“I’d love to, but I’m kind of busy, so,” Chanyeol excuses, knowing clearly that deep down, he _wants_. “Thanks for asking.”

If Jongdae is disappointed, he doesn’t show it. And it’s not like Chanyeol expects him to; Jongdae is simply being nice and welcoming. “Okay,” Jongdae says, smiling good-naturedly. “Maybe next time?”

Chanyeol wets his lips, thumbs at one of the knotted ends at the string of his hoodie. “Alright,” he says, internally convincing himself that he _doesn’t_ mean it, and closes the door behind him before he changes his mind.

 

 

The next morning, Chanyeol mumbles a greeting at Minseok who’s brewing coffee in the kitchen and leaves for the downtown area. He shops for some albums – local artists, mostly underground – at a music store and eats eel sushi for breakfast. The next, next Wednesday is Baekhyun’s birthday, so Chanyeol gets him a baseball hat. He’s more than a hundred percent sure that Kyungsoo has taken care of the fancy sunglasses. It’s always easy to choose presents for Baekhyun; he’s quite the fashionista.

Chanyeol gets home a little before noon and, at noon, receives his copy of the house key from the landlord with thanks. He leaves the spare key on the coffee table, replies to emails, reads through lyrics, listens to rough demos, changes his outfit.

By three o’clock Chanyeol is on his way to the cinema for the last showing of Suicide Squad. Jinho is already there when he arrives. They order four medium-sized cups of buttered popcorn (popcorn is buy three get one free on Saturdays) and a large iced lemon tea to share.

They take the third row from the top, middle seats. Jinho comments about every song that appears throughout the movie. Chanyeol can’t find himself complaining because they are great songs indeed, his favourite being Purple Lamborghini. The movie is great. Heath Ledger’s rendition of the Joker stays Chanyeol’s ultimate favourite, but Jared Leto’s version brings a new colour to the character’s insanity that Chanyeol finds very refreshing.

Jinho finishes their supposedly shared drink halfway through the movie and has to go to the restroom mid-showing. Chanyeol doesn’t leave his seat until the movie ends, and he briefly wonders if it would have felt different watching it at home than here, the warmth of being nestled between the bed and the comforter instead of the cruel cold that invades cinema theatres, the heat of snuggling with a certain cat hybrid in a fort of soft, warm blankets.

 

 

“So. How’s the new place?” asks Kyungsoo, not looking up from where he has his nose buried in the menu book.

It’s Friday, meaning Chanyeol is out with Kyungsoo and Baekhyun for their usual Friday night dinner. Tonight, they’re having a good old Korean because Baekhyun misses his grandmother’s cooking and he insists that this specific restaurant’s red pepper sauce tastes like home the most.

Chanyeol closes his menu book, opting for sweet and sour pork because nothing can go wrong with sweet and sour pork. “It’s fine.”

Kyungsoo has this mildly inquiring look on his face when he looks across the table at Chanyeol, one that Chanyeol will undoubtedly entirely miss if he didn’t know Kyungsoo so well.

Chanyeol isn’t necessarily trying to hide the fact that he’s living with four cat hybrids and that things haven’t been going completely smoothly. The thing is that, when Baekhyun and Kyungsoo start to worry, they worry so bad, and Chanyeol has had enough of their lectures. Kyungsoo deems it his duty to nag at Chanyeol to stop worrying so much about his future and start fretting about his present instead. Telling Kyungsoo about his new housemates will only encourage Kyungsoo to press, to start complaining that Chanyeol has saved more than enough for his later years, that spending more on an apartment he can call his own is _fine_.

“How are your kids, Baekhyun?” Chanyeol asks, diverting attention.

Kyungsoo gives him one last look before turning to Baekhyun who looks up from where he’s been salivating at a picture of blood sausages. “You make it sound like I’m a single dad with ten kids,” he complains, but settles to entertain Chanyeol’s question, anyway. “They’re doing pretty great. Seulgi – she’s the one with the long hair – struggles with some of the higher notes still but she’s doing great. It’s a little tough with Jimin; his parents insists he visit Busan every other week. Taehyung’s amazing, as always.”

Baekhyun waves a waiter over and they make their orders. They dissolve into easy conversation, Kyungsoo talking about a possible new movie he’s planning on producing and Chanyeol sharing a general idea of what’s happening at work with Yixing, Jinho, the other writers, contracted producers, and his subordinates.

Kyungsoo has been receiving a streak of overall positive reviews on his movies and, what with the harsh environment of vocal coaching for trainees and idols alike, Baekhyun has been doing surprisingly fine. It’s such a positive and pleasant thing, and the more it blooms, the more Chanyeol finds it difficult to tell them the truth.

 

 

The problem with living with four cat hybrids, Chanyeol realises, is not the fact that he might be allergic to them. No, it’s the blatant fact that half of the four forgoes wearing a shirt in the morning, and Chanyeol can be very distracted sometimes.

Jongin sleeps topless but puts on a shirt once he’s out of bed, so Chanyeol is okay with that. Besides, Jongin looks like he’s fresh out of middle school, and Chanyeol isn’t into kids. He’s such a young thing, someone Chanyeol would happily treat as a younger brother if only he weren’t so skittish around Chanyeol.

Jongdae, though, is a whole different case. And Chanyeol might – _might_ – be a little – _little_ – fascinated.

Jongdae doesn’t put on a shirt in the morning until he has showered, and will only have it on until his second shower later that night. Nobody’s ever told Chanyeol about this, and it’s not like he pays extra attention to Jongdae – that’s just ridiculous – it’s just hard to ignore when Jongdae is shirtless ninety percent of the time Chanyeol sees him.

Chanyeol isn’t one to blatantly ogle at hot, shirtless men – that’s just rude – but he can’t help it when Jongdae is _right there_ , right across the room, lounging on the couch with only a pair of sweatpants on as he blinks sleepily at the morning news.

Chanyeol is definitely not gripping too hard at his cup of soy milk his knuckles turn white in protest.

“Are you up for pancakes?” breaks Chanyeol from his reverie of fantasies he never wants to admit out loud.

He looks up to find Jongdae looking over at him. “What?”

“I’m making pancakes,” Jongdae elaborates, the remains of sleep evident on his face still, his ears perked up atop his head and his mouth in a pout like an adorable duckling. Chanyeol is definitely not staring at Jongdae’s lips, or his very much naked pecs. “Do you want pancakes?”

Pancakes. By Jongdae. Pancakes by Jongdae who is half a cat and probably someone Chanyeol should never have his food prepared by. A breakfast of pancakes prepared by Jongdae who is sometimes mischievous and smug but also nice and sweet and welcoming. Delicious, hot pancakes made by Jongdae who is also delicious and-

“Pancakes are great,” Chanyeol says. This is fine. It’s nothing special; he’s just trying to be nice because Jongdae is nice to him. Jongdae _is_ being nice to him. “I’ll have one of those, please.”

The pancakes are great. Chanyeol sits at the dining table with Jongdae and Junmyeon. Minseok sits in the living room for his usual morning coffee and the morning news because he can’t stomach breakfast in the morning and news is important. Jongin stops by the dining table only long enough to snatch a couple of pancakes before he’s rushing off to school, ignoring his brothers’ reprimands.

The pancakes are great. Chanyeol tells Jongdae just that. The smile that washes over Jongdae’s face is sweet and bright and weirdly rewarding, and, if Chanyeol is honest with himself, he might have gotten reminded of it a few times at work and caught himself smiling an even brighter one.

 

 

Chanyeol always looks forward to Fridays because it’s when he gets to meet up with the two people he’s most comfortable with, to just relax and chat and release the burden of work and life at some downtown coffee shop or the cheap Korean restaurant a block down Kyungsoo’s workplace.

Tonight is fried chicken and light alcohol at some random pub in Hongdae. Chanyeol would bathe in the relaxing atmosphere and calming background noises of people talking and clinking soju glasses, except, of course, Baekhyun always manages to ruin things in his own, very special way, even if it’s not his intention.

“So when do we get to visit your new place?” asks Baekhyun, poking at a fried chicken with his chopsticks.

Chanyeol nearly chokes. He puts his chopsticks down, finishes chewing the food in his mouth. “My new place?”

“Well, yes. I need to bless it, in case satan decides to burn it down or something,” Baekhyun jests dryly, raising his brows at Chanyeol.

Kyungsoo only marginally fails to hide his snort behind his empty glass. “I mean, why not?”

“We can go next Friday,” Baekhyun suggests easily, biting a large chunk off his fried chicken.

“If your housemates don’t mind-”

“I am a guest of honour,” Baekhyun interjects, before Kyungsoo can finish.

Kyungsoo smacks Baekhyun on the cheek in retaliation, rather half-heartedly. “I was talking.”

“I am a guest of honour,” Baekhyun repeats, like Kyungsoo has not just whacked him on the face with greased fingers. “Why would they mind? Plus, we have to make sure you’re safe and not living with some psycho ass group of serial killers.”

“If anyone’s psycho, that would be you.”

“Shut up, smurf.”

This time, when Kyungsoo whacks Baekhyun at the back of his head, it’s with feelings.

“So. Next Friday it is, then,” Baekhyun decides, subtly rubbing at the spot on his head.

Kyungsoo nods in agreement despite everything, and settles to pouring soju into everyone’s glasses. Chanyeol finds himself unable to come up with a reasonable explanation as to why he can’t possibly let them see his new place, or worse, meet its residents. The only word Chanyeol can think of at the moment is ‘fuck’.

Chanyeol decides, as he rises his soju glass to his mouth, that he’s utterly, deeply, thoroughly fucked.

 

 

The next Wednesday, they go to a karaoke bar for Baekhyun’s birthday. Chanyeol and Kyungsoo hand Baekhyun his birthday presents in a recyclable bag because Baekhyun is obsessed with making the world a better place. Baekhyun’s students are all here, too, along with a few of their closer friends back from high school, and also Yixing, whom Baekhyun clings onto like a smug sloth after gulping down his third shot of soju.

Baekhyun belts out Tears like his life depends on it, and as he settles down to rub his face against Yixing’s bunny ears, muttering, “Soft, so soft,” Chanyeol and Kyungsoo contribute a couple of trending Western songs, as per tradition. Seulgi sings that one classic soundtrack from The Little Mermaid like she’s auditioning for a role and Daehyun and Youngjae sing one song each from back during their high school days. For a moment Chanyeol thinks it feels like they’re seventeen again. Yixing hums melodiously to a Chinese song with a sly dimple on his cheek and Baekhyun’s suddenly looking like he’s so head over heels it’ll only take one little drop of soju for him to kiss Yixing on the mouth and get it all over with.

Baekhyun doesn’t get that last tiny push because Kyungsoo deems it his job (like he does everything else) to be the responsible friend who keeps Baekhyun from downing anymore alcohol. All of Baekhyun’s students have gone home and Daehyun is busy balancing an empty glass on a knocked out Youngjae’s nose when Chanyeol decides it’s high time to order another bottle especially for Baekhyun. Kyungsoo isn’t impressed. The bottle comes and Chanyeol is swept away from a baffled and giggling Baekhyun and highly amused Yixing and onto the streets where Kyungsoo waves a cab down to take Chanyeol home.

When Chanyeol gets home, holding onto a now empty bottle of soju, (he has quietly finished the entire thing at the back of the taxi like a sad loner because he has horrible people as friends) Jongdae is the one who opens the door.

“Fuck. You’re drunk, aren’t you?” is Jongdae’s greeting as Chanyeol finds it very reasonable and acceptable to drop his entire weight on Jongdae. Jongdae flounders until he has a grip on something (presumably the door handle) and Chanyeol shifts closer until he has his face buried in Jongdae’s neck, nuzzling the soft skin.

 _So soft_.

“Jesus, Chanyeol. You smell worse than Minseok hyung.”

The room might be spinning a little, but Chanyeol isn’t wasted enough to not remember to take his shoes off, kicking them away as he drops his weight further onto Jongdae.

Chanyeol didn’t even drink that much.

“Soft,” Chanyeol mumbles into Jongdae’s warm – hot, hot – neck, pressing close even as Jongdae hefts them out of the doorway. “You’re nice.” Chanyeol has never pegged himself as the type for rough play, but right now he finds he doesn’t necessarily dislike the idea of Jongdae manhandling him into the living room.

“Yeah, well, some people don’t like being stamped an asshole.”

Chanyeol pulls away slightly, just enough to get a glimpse of Jongdae’s face. The lighting in the living room is dim, and Chanyeol’s socks are a little slippery against the flooring, but Jongdae’s hot breath against his jaw wins the attention of his alcohol-shrouded mind, and, oh, he’s got the prettiest lashes Chanyeol has ever had the honour of seeing up-close.

“No,” Chanyeol corrects him, fingers curling into the sides of Jongdae’s shirt – weirdly enough, Chanyeol wants that _off_ , and briefly wonders why Jongdae hasn’t showered this late at night – as Jongdae’s ears twitch attentively. “No, you look nice.”

Chanyeol isn’t quite sure if it’s his mind playing him, but Jongdae promptly stills at that, his high cheekbones tinting red as his breath hitches and Chanyeol might be enjoying the close proximity a little too much. He doesn’t recall being this perceptive when drunk, but right now his senses are heightened, his mind foggy but his vision clear as day as Jongdae blinks, blinks again, gulps with a distractingly prominent bob of his adam’s apple.

He looks down at Chanyeol’s hand. “Give me that,” he mutters, snatching the empty bottle of soju from Chanyeol’s grip with one hand and placing it on the dining table. Chanyeol appreciates the fact that Jongdae still retains his other arm around him, holding him up and close.

“You haven’t showered yet,” Chanyeol comments, sniffing absent-mindedly, the waft of alcohol making his nose crinkle.

Jongdae blinks up at him, eyes wide like he wasn’t expecting Chanyeol to mention it, or notice at all. “I just got home,” he reasons.

Chanyeol hums, content with basking in the hint of warmth that Jongdae’s body radiates, before he registers how late it is. “Where were you?” he asks, frowning.

As far as Chanyeol knows, Jongdae gets off work between six to seven. Whatever is this thing that required Jongdae to be out so late at night?

“Where were _you_?” Jongdae counters instead of answering, already pulling Chanyeol toward the general direction of his room. “We’re getting you to bed. Come on.”

They get to Chanyeol’s room with what Chanyeol smartly decides is minimal floundering. The light in his room is off and Jongdae fumbles to flick the light switch on, the sudden brightness making Chanyeol’s head pound and his eyes squint in protest. He flails for the light switch, but however pathetically incapable a lanky man such as Chanyeol is of controlling his gangly arms, his drunken state makes the whole thing a lot worse, his trashing arms refusing to cooperate and land on the god damn light switch as his feet decides it’s high time to slip over his slippery socks.

Chanyeol collapses onto the bed ungainly, as does Jongdae, who, unlike Chanyeol, lands on it like he’s mastered the arts of graceful falling despite the clearly shocked expression on his face, his back against the mattress, his torso right under Chanyeol’s.

Suddenly everything feels so dreamy, like Chanyeol is a male protagonist in some cheesy romantic comedy drama and Jongdae is the girl Chanyeol teases and jeers at but wants Chanyeol the same, anyway. Except Jongdae might just be a little prettier than the clear-skinned actresses with their sweet, blinding smiles that Chanyeol sees on television.

It’s like time has stopped, the faint throbbing in Chanyeol’s head the only thing that ticks, albeit a little painfully. Looking down at Jongdae like this, staring at the breathtakingly, adorably surprised look on his face, the brown of his eyes and the pretty, pretty long lashes that adorn them, Chanyeol finds himself voicing out the first thing that comes to mind.

“Kitty curls,” Chanyeol tells him, softly, reaching up to Jongdae’s face, tracing the enticingly curled ends of Jongdae’s pink, pink lips with the pad of his thumb.

At this rate, Chanyeol might be more than a little drunk, but the hitch of Jongdae’s breath and the shy flutter of his lashes are things that he hopes aren’t merely part of his imagination.

Chanyeol takes notice of the way Jongdae’s tongue peeks out to wet his lips, feels the brush of Jongdae’s tail against his thigh as Jongdae curls it around his own leg, before Jongdae is pushing him away, letting Chanyeol fall onto the bed completely.

“Good night, Chanyeol,” Jongdae says, making his way to the door resolutely.

Chanyeol thinks he catches a hint of red on Jongdae’s cheeks right before Jongdae switches the light off, but he might have imagined that.

Chanyeol might have imagined that, might have drank a little too much, might have had a bit more fun that his body could bear. He allows himself to sink into the plush comforter, closes his eyes as he gives in to the sweet temptation of a good night’s sleep, maybe also dream of nice, lovely things like songs about young love and adventures and first snows, like spending a well-deserved coffee break at a dog cafe, or a cat cafe, of soft cat fur, twitching cat ears, kitty curls...

 

 

Chanyeol wakes up the next day barely remembering anything.

He does remember, though, to an extend, like getting home in a taxi that Kyungsoo waved down for him, and that Jongdae was the one who opened the door (Chanyeol isn’t sure why he didn’t think of using his own copy of the key. One thing he’s sure of, though, is that Jongdae was still, rather disappointingly, wearing a shirt when he opened the door). Chanyeol can’t remember what happens after, or how he got to bed safely, or if the extra bottle of soju that Chanyeol ordered especially for Baekhyun did get into Baekhyun’s system.

Chanyeol steps into the living room slowly, scratching at the tiny hairs at his nape as he takes in the morning news playing on the television, Minseok nursing his mug of coffee on the couch. At the same time, Jongdae emerges out of his own room, on the other side of the unit.

The slight widening of Jongdae’s eyes when he takes in Chanyeol’s presence is something that Chanyeol only barely fails to notice, before Jongdae schools his expression into place. “G’morning,” he mumbles sleepily, yawning into the back of his hand.

“Good morning,” Minseok chirps, too cheerful for so early in the morning.

“Good morning. Did I,” Chanyeol starts, a bit hesitantly. He realises belatedly that Minseok is within earshot and advances toward Jongdae for safe measures. “I didn’t do anything weird, did I?” he asks, keeping it low and nonchalant as Minseok turns his attention back to the television.

Jongdae’s left ear twitches, one of his brows rising up in a subtle, mock surprise as he licks over his already wet lips. “Well, you were fairly wasted, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“Alright,” Chanyeol says, dumbly, because what else is there to say when Jongdae’s refusing to open up? “Uh-”

Jongin darts out of his room just then, causing Jongdae to break away. He’s in his complete school uniform alright, but his tie is slung carelessly over his neck, and the way his shirt is haphazardly shoved into his pants makes Chanyeol’s hands itch to fix it like a good old caring brother.

“Kim Jongin, you’re _not_ skipping breakfast,” Jongdae calls out at Jongin who’s well on his way to the doorway as Junmyeon emerges from their shared room in a smart set of neatly ironed business attire.

“I’m running late,” Jongin reasons, dropping his shoes onto the floor and hefting his backpack onto his back so he can put his shoes on properly.

“Jongin, you’re having breakfast or you’re not leaving this house,” Jongdae repeats, hands on his hip as he takes a sassy stance and Chanyeol might be a little enthralled with the way Jongdae’s tail curls playfully behind him.

The pout that Jongin flashes at Jongdae makes its way to Minseok. “Nah, kid,” Minseok says, a kind yet stern smile on his youthful face, “you’re having breakfast before you go.”

Jongin gives in easily to that, his ears flattening slightly in a sign of defeat as Jongdae makes his way into the kitchen victoriously. Chanyeol muses, as Jongdae and Jongin disappear behind the wall, if he did, indeed, do nothing embarrassing the other night. And then Chanyeol remembers that he has work to go to, and that he has thirty minutes left before the Chinese restaurant he frequents for breakfast takeouts gets crowded with hasty customers.

Chanyeol goes for a quick shower, gets dressed in his usual casual work attire, nods at Minseok on his way out, and leaves for work.

 

 

There’s an unfamiliar guy in the living room when Chanyeol walks out of his room the next morning. The guy doesn’t notice him, and neither does Jongin, the two rather occupied in an animated conversation as Chanyeol makes quiet steps to the kitchen.

Jongdae is in the kitchen, sipping tea with his hip cocked against the counter, when Chanyeol arrives. It looks like a perfect picture of a house spouse greeting him with hot, brewed tea in a pleasant Sunday morning as said spouse prepares breakfast for the two of them, Chanyeol thinks, except it’s Thursday, and Jongdae isn’t someone Chanyeol is related to domestically, or romantically, or sexually, or-

“Good morning,” Jongdae murmurs into his cup, peering at Chanyeol from over the lip.

Chanyeol pulls out a cup – _his_ cup – from one of the high cabinets, fills it with water from the dispenser, settles himself against the counter opposite Jongdae’s. “Morning,” he says, gulping down water from his cup with purpose.

“ _Just_ morning?” Jongdae inquires, advancing forward until he’s only a step away from Chanyeol, brows raised, as if teasingly.

Jongdae has been acting, if anything, bolder since the night Chanyeol went home drunk, and it’s making Chanyeol feel both apprehensive and expectant.

Chanyeol puts his cup of water down, cradling it with both hands. “Good morning, Jongdae.”

Jongdae smiles satisfiedly at that, perhaps a little too prettily, and Chanyeol realises maybe leaning against the counter isn’t the best idea. Jongdae closes the distance between them with his arms on either side of Chanyeol, hands propped on the counter, bracketing him, cornering him.

“I made breakfast,” he says, softly, chin almost touching Chanyeol’s chest.

Chanyeol can see that. There’s toast sizzling in the pan, the smell of chocolate spread and salted butter wafting in the air.

Jongdae is so, _so_ close Chanyeol can see the baby hairs lining his forehead, the flex of his upper arms because Jongdae sleeps topless and walks around topless before his morning showers, the flutter of his lower lashes when he blinks. And really, Chanyeol should be panicking about his damned allergy, because being in such a close proximity with a cat should be something that alarms him. Instead Chanyeol is more focused with the rapid increase of his heartbeat, his own ears deafened by the loud hammering of his heart in his chest, so fast, so exhilaratingly good.

“There’s still an hour and a half before work starts for you,” Jongdae says, when Chanyeol makes no move to answer. His breath tickles Chanyeol’s neck, a little. “Stay for breakfast.”

Chanyeol licks his lips, curls his fingers around the handle of his cup. “Okay.”

When Chanyeol walks out of the kitchen and into the living room, Jongdae trailing behind him with his half empty cup of tea, Jongin’s friend takes notice of them.

“Oh!” he exclaims. “Hello. Who’s this?” he asks, speech hurried, before he seems to catch himself. “Apologies, that probably sounded a little rude. I’m-”

“Zitao!” Jongin snaps in warning, cutting his friend off.

Beside Chanyeol, Jongdae watches amusedly. He would ask Jongdae what’s so entertaining, except Jongin is suddenly leaning in to whisper into his friend’s – Zitao’s? – ear, stealing a glance at Chanyeol once, and then again, before he leans away.

Whatever it is that Jongin has just whispered into his friend’s ear, it must be something quite the matter, considering how wary Zitao looks right after, his initial bright demeanor gone in an instant. Zitao flashes Chanyeol a sheepish smile, before Jongin pulls him away from the couch and into the direction of the room he shares with Junmyeon, arm wrapped around Zitao’s and his tail prodding at Zitao’s calf insistently, as if ushering him away from... something. Probably. Chanyeol really doesn’t get it.

“What’s just happened?” he asks, mostly to himself, but Jongdae seems pleased to respond, anyway.

“It’s probably nothing important. Trust me, it’s not worth your curiosity,” Jongdae assures him, smiling like he knows something Chanyeol doesn’t but probably deserves to know. “I’ll get breakfast.”

 

 

Chanyeol doesn’t realise it’s Friday until he gets home from work. Chanyeol doesn’t realise it’s _the_ Friday until he’s standing outside the door with his key in his hand, Baekhyun and Kyungsoo in tow as they wait for him to unlock the front door.

Chanyeol opens the door to an empty house. He remembers Minseok saying that he’ll be out with a friend. Junmyeon is out with his boyfriend. Jongin is out for a group assignment, and Jongdae, as far as Chanyeol knows, is still at work. Chanyeol thinks he might just be the luckiest man on earth, until he turns and sees Baekhyun standing rooted to the floor at the doorway, face contorted into a contemplative frown, and Kyungsoo staring at Baekhyun with a raised brow.

“Chanyeol-”

Realisation dawns in Chanyeol like a huge surge of cold water down his throat.

“No!” he cuts Baekhyun off, reaching out to take Baekhyun by the arm and pulling him into the kitchen, before slamming the door shut behind him.

Chanyeol braces his back against the door, sends Kyungsoo an apologetic look from behind the window even as Kyungsoo tells him, in a muffled voice, “What the heck?”

“I can explain,” Chanyeol blurts out hurriedly as he turns to face Baekhyun.

Baekhyun is sporting a rather puzzled and irritated but mostly inquiring look on his face. Chanyeol’s pretty sure it’s not a good sign. “You better.”

“Before you start jumping to conclusions,” Chanyeol starts slowly, “I’ve only had minor sneezes so far.”

Baekhyun doesn’t look impressed. It’s not a look he delivers often. “Your housemates are cat hybrids,” he deadpans, truthfully.

Chanyeol lets out a heavy sigh in defeat. “Yes. Yes, that is correct, but-”

“Have you, by any chance, forgotten that you’re _allergic_ to cats, Park Chanyeol?” Baekhyun asks rhetorically.

Chanyeol knows better than to give that an answer. “Listen-”

“No. Kyungsoo deserves to know about this, too, and _then_ we’ll listen to you.”

“Baekhyun-”

Baekhyun pushes Chanyeol out of the way before he can finish. He yanks the door open and Chanyeol turns – too late – to see not only Kyungsoo by the doorway, but also, well, if Chanyeol thought tonight couldn’t be any worse than it already is, he’s definitely wrong.

Chanyeol is greeted by the sight of not only Kyungsoo, but also Jongdae, looking as handsome and delectable as always even if he’s clearly wrung out of energy from a long day of work.

“Hey, Jongdae,” Chanyeol greets him, burying the urge to curl into a pitiful ball under the pair of searching eyes directed at both him and Jongdae.

“Hey, Chanyeol,” Jongdae says, chuckling softly and flashing Chanyeol one of his pretty smiles, the curled ends of his lips betraying the tired lines on his face and his ears twitching contently. “And these are,” he prompts, eyes shifting between the two guests.

Chanyeol is very, very fucked. “This is Kyungsoo,” he introduces, only vaguely motioning at Kyungsoo because he doesn’t have the guts to look him right in the eye, “and this is-”

“Baekhyun. Byun Baekhyun,” Baekhyun tells him, extending a hand for Jongdae to take. Jongdae shakes it with a confused yet welcoming smile on his face. “We’re Chanyeol’s friends who are extremely prying and inquisitive and Chanyeol is only ever so kind to give us a tour around his new residence,” he says, a sarcastic hint to his voice that Chanyeol doesn’t miss.

Of course Chanyeol forgot to inform the brothers beforehand that he’ll be having a couple of friends over for the night.

Jongdae smiles in amusement, his ears twitching entertainedly. “Kim Jongdae. I’ll be at my room, then, if you need anything,” he says, kindly, as he steps out of his shoes. “Nice to meet you guys.”

The three of them watch as Jongdae makes his way into the living room, disappearing from sight and earshot. Chanyeol only barely suppresses the shudder that threatens to escape as the two scrutinizing gazes turn back to him.

“There’s a pizza place nearby,” Chanyeol tells them, before they can say anything. “Please?”

Kyungsoo only stares at him with large, unreadable eyes. Baekhyun’s glare looks borderline unforgiving, and for a moment, Chanyeol thinks he looks seconds away from storming in and packing up all of Chanyeol’s stuff.

What Chanyeol isn’t expecting, is for Baekhyun to head for the front door and pull it open. “I’m only going for the pizza.”

(“You’re the most careless idiot I’ve ever met,” Kyungsoo says, looking torn between going for the margherita and pepperoni and cheese.

“As I’ve said, I’ve only had minor sneezes. Nothing serious. I’m fine,” Chanyeol insists, because it’s true. He’s _fine_.

“Oh, go buy an apartment, or something, for fuck’s sake,” Kyungsoo tells him, voice stern even as he goes for the pepperoni and cheese.

Baekhyun pops one last bite of a slice of margherita pizza into his mouth. “It’s because of Jongdae, isn’t it?”

Chanyeol blinks. “What?”

“You’re staying because you’re interested in him,” Baekhyun concludes, rather smugly, a knowing smirk plastered on his face as he munches on pizza happily.

“I stay because the price is relatively cheap for a unit that good and I don’t mind sharing,” Chanyeol corrects him, because it’s _true_.

Baekhyun isn’t deterred. “Please, don’t give me that bullshit. I can smell it on you.”

The fact that Baekhyun is part-dog and hence still retains a large part of his superior sense of smell is something Chanyeol nearly always fails to remember. “Your nose is an invasion of privacy,” Chanyeol tells him, frowning at his can of coke.

Chanyeol’s frown grows when Baekhyun flicks a basil leaf at him. “You’re just upset that you have underdeveloped body parts.”)

 

 

“Your friends seemed nice,” Jongdae comments the next morning, placing the pan of steaming hot kimchi fried rice onto the dining table because it’s Saturday and everyone gets to do elaborate things on Saturday.

Chanyeol would like to think that the lack of negative response Baekhyun and Kyungsoo gave him last night might be an indication that they are, maybe, perhaps, okay with Chanyeol sharing a roof with four cat hybrids.

“They are,” Chanyeol says, taking the spoon to scoop in some fried rice into his own plate. “Sorry for not, you know, telling you that I were bringing friends over.”

Chanyeol hears a door click open, before a low ‘morning’ is murmured in Junmyeon’s sleepy voice.

“It’s fine, Chanyeol. It’s not a big deal.” The understanding smile that Jongdae gives him might just look more stunning than the morning sun outside.

 

 

Chanyeol has just gone home from a late night session with Jinho for a final review on his new album, lounging in the couch to catch the 11 p.m. news, when the doorbell rings. The doorbell rings four more times before Chanyeol gets to open the door. He’s rather surprised to see a very drunk Minseok and someone he doesn’t know, Minseok clinging onto the man as the man struggles to support Minseok’s weight.

“Who are you?” the man asks, taking in Chanyeol’s appearance. He smells of alcohol, just not as strong as Minseok does.

Chanyeol thinks he’s supposed to be the one asking the guy who he is, considering Chanyeol is the one living here, but he’s interrupted when Minseok looks up, eyes widening and going significantly brighter once he notices Chanyeol’s presence. Chanyeol briefly wonders where Minseok has been; he hasn’t seen him for two whole days.

“Oh! My little giant Yeollipop! How have you been doing?” Minseok greets him, trying to launch himself at Chanyeol’s general direction and failing because he still has his arm slung around the other guy’s shoulder.

“Yeollipop?” the guy inquires, face contorting into a weird mixture of amusement and confusion as Minseok wriggles in his arms, mumbling incoherently, but not less loudly.

“It’s Chanyeol,” Chanyeol corrects. “I’m Chanyeol.”

The guy seems to have recalled something, brows shooting up in response. “Oh! You must be the new resident human Minseok talked about. I’m Lu Han.”

Chanyeol finds it a very weird thing for Lu Han to be referring to him as ‘human’, considering Lu Han is also very much human himself. “Nice to meet you, Lu Han.”

“Nice to meet you, too, though I’m kind of sorry to be a little drunk on our first meeting,” Lu Han says, smiling brilliantly (Chanyeol thinks his jaw went a little dislodged for a moment there) as he hefts Minseok past the doorway.

“Lu Han!” Minseok snaps, looking up to glare at Lu Han properly even as Lu Han bends down to pull his shoes off for him. “Have you been listening to me? I’ve been rattling all day long and you didn’t even bother to listen. All you did was exchange pleasantries with some overgrown human-“ wait, what? “-but I need you to _listen_.”

“What is it this time, princess?” Lu Han asks, brushing past Chanyeol with an apologetic smile as he pulls Minseok toward the living room.

“How many times have I told you not to use plugs to keep your come in me? We’re not trying to get me pregnant – I’m a _guy_ – and how hard is it to understand that I only want your dick in me to satiate my heat-”

Minseok is cut off, gurgling into Lu Han’s palm when Lu Han puts a hand over his mouth, a whole lot too late. Chanyeol stands there, trying not to let the shock show too much on his face, arms dangling at his sides awkwardly, as he watches Lu Han push Minseok into his room, shutting the door behind him. Minseok tries to open it from his end, but he only succeeds in putting up a weak fight, Lu Han keeping the door shut until Minseok goes quiet, a sign that he’s given up.

“Thanks, Han,” sounds from the end of the corridor. Chanyeol looks over to find Jongdae peeking out of his room, door held open only wide enough for his head to show. It’s the perfect timing, like Jongdae _knows_ exactly when to appear without having to deal with a Minseok who, apparently, gets very uncharacteristically talkative and speaks without so much as a brain-to-mouth filter when drunk. Chanyeol has never met anyone as cunning since Baekhyun. “Water?”

Lu Han sighs, holds up a hand to his own forehead like he’s trying to massage it, and nods. “Yeah. Thanks, Jongdae.”

Jongdae goes to the kitchen to get water for Lu Han, flashing a sweet smile at Chanyeol went he brushes past him. Lu Han looks like he has severe drowsiness going on there with his heavy, half-lidded eyes. Jongdae offers him the couch, but he insists that he’s alright, so they walk him to the door with thanks.

They linger for a while in the living room, Chanyeol still in the outfit he put on for dinner earlier and Jongdae with only a pair of sweatpants on, ready for sleep. Jongdae is the one to break the silence.

“You up for a movie night?” he offers, the huge eyes staring back at Chanyeol sparkling, expectant, a contrast to the way the muscles on his upper arm flex teasingly. “I’m putting up Fantastic Beasts.”

The door to Minseok’s room opens just then, and Jongdae looks away to peer over his own shoulder at Minseok, the moment broken as Minseok blinks at them. “I’m willing to trade all my Pokemon cards with daily votes for DBSK using thirty different accounts.”

“Go to sleep, Minseok.”

“You don’t understand, Jongdae.” Jongdae sighs, already walking up to Minseok to push him into his room, even as Minseok continues to ramble, saying, “Have you seen DBSK sing? Have you even _heard_ of their song? It totally deserves Song of the Year. I kid you not. If you vote for them-”

The rest is muffled voices as the door closes behind them, probably Jongdae using his foot to shut it because he has his arms full of a Minseok that won’t stop talking.

And Chanyeol doesn’t know why he stays, but he does, standing by the closed door to Minseok’s room, waiting for Jongdae to come out.

It takes a couple of minutes for Jongdae to walk out of the room. The lights are off and Jongdae closes the door softly behind him, the click barely audible.

“I want to,” Chanyeol says, startling Jongdae who turns to him with a questioning look on his face. His bangs fall over his forehead in an array of dark strands that Chanyeol really wants to brush back with his fingers, feel how soft they are against his skin, scratch at his ears until Jongdae is purring and leaning into the touch, until he’s _craving_ Chanyeol. “The movie. I want to watch it.”

The smile that blossoms on Jongdae’s face spreads warmth in Chanyeol’s chest, tugs at his heart in all the ways he didn’t know are possible and Chanyeol smiles back, takes in the way Jongdae wets his lips, the way his lashes flutter when he looks down coyly. Jongdae wraps his fingers around Chanyeol’s wrist and Chanyeol follows wordlessly as he is tugged toward Jongdae’s room.

They get comfortable on Jongdae’s bed. Jongdae props up pillows against the headboard and pulls at Chanyeol until he lies beside Jongdae, letting Jongdae snuggle up beside him, his head on Chanyeol’s shoulder and his soft hair against Chanyeol’s cheek. Maybe Chanyeol shouldn’t be doing this, shouldn’t have agreed to climb up Jongdae’s bed because he’s clearly allergic to cats, shouldn’t be letting himself fall so easily. But maybe Chanyeol can. The break outs he’s experienced so far have only been occasional sneezing and mild itchiness on the nose. Jongdae is only half cat, anyway; he must be triggering Chanyeol’s immune system a lot less than a cat would have. Maybe Chanyeol can _want_. It’s alright.

Chanyeol doesn’t pay attention to the movie. He’s more focused on Jongdae, sees Jongdae smells Jongdae _feels Jongdae_. He can feel it against his shoulder, can hear the soft gasps that Jongdae lets out as beautifully animated creatures swarm around in the screen. Chanyeol falls asleep barely half an hour into the movie, warm and content.

(Chanyeol wakes up later at the wee hours of the night, nose itching horribly and a sneeze caught up in his throat. Jongdae has a hand curled around Chanyeol’s middle and Chanyeol has his face mussed in Jongdae’s hair. He untangles himself slowly, carefully, and slips out of the room, sneezing loudly once he reaches the living room.)

 

 

“Is that math?”

“Ah!” Jongin jumps in his seat, causing Chanyeol to step back instantly. “What?” he asks timidly, giving Chanyeol a scandalous look as he clutches at his chest defensively.

“Is that math?” Chanyeol repeats, peering at Jongin’s homework from behind the couch. It’s still blank aside from the questions and a pencil drawing of what looks like a bear on the top right corner.

Jongin not so subtly covers the drawing with his eraser and watches in what looks like a cautious manner as Chanyeol rounds the couch to get a clearer view of the questions. “Yes.”

“Need any help with it?” Chanyeol offers, in a tone that he hopes sounds welcoming.

Jongin’s eyes widen. “No!” he yelps, before he seems to catch himself. Chanyeol raises his brows. “I mean,” he amends, “I’ll be,” a pause as Jongin looks away and then back at Chanyeol, “over at Zitao’s to do this later.”

Chanyeol gives him a vague nod. “Okay.”

He takes a seat as Jongin collects his things and gets up, ready to leave. Chanyeol picks up the remote control and is about to turn the television on when Jongin says, “Have you,” Chanyeol turns to him, silently urging him to go on, “thought of going to the doctor?”

Chanyeol blinks. “Why?”

Jongin blinks, blinks again. “Nothing,” he says, shaking his head, before skittering back to his room.

Chanyeol shrugs, lies back on the armchair, and turns the television on. The re-run for Unpretty Rapstar is on in a few and Chanyeol isn’t missing out on Tymee’s legendary rap for a second time.

 

 

“So Minseok’s dating that Lu Han guy,” Chanyeol guesses, one Wednesday evening, sitting cross-legged on the armchair with his laptop on his lap.

The others are out doing their own respective business, and Chanyeol decides it’s high time to bring this up.

Junmyeon looks like he might have choked a bit on his hot chocolate. He coughs, patting himself on the chest exaggeratedly to calm himself down. “Well, no.” Then, more firmly, “No.”

Chanyeol isn’t trying to push or pry. It’s all pure curiosity, really, and he has had to suffer from the misfortune of listening to some of the filthy things Minseok has done, and probably still does with Lu Han. It’s only fair.

“So they’re friends with benefits,” Chanyeol guesses, a second time.

Junmyeon sputters. “Well, not exactly.”

“Friends who do nasty things together?”

Junmyeon frowns. “That’s-” He sighs, finally giving in. “It’s a cat thing. Cat business.” When Chanyeol raises a brow in question, he elaborates, “Lu Han helps Minseok with his cat problems.”

“Which involves excessive sex. Do all cats have cat problems?”

Junmyeon blushes red. It’s not nearly as attractive and adorable as how Jongdae looks blushing red. “Can we not have this conversation? I have a boyfriend,” he says, defensively.

Chanyeol thinks of the artsy, oh so handsome boyfriend Yifan that Junmyeon talks about sometimes, and the laugh that Chanyeol lets out is unexpected, even to himself. “Alright, now, I’m not trying to hit on you. Junmyeon, no offense, but you’d be the last person I’d want to date, ever,” he confesses truthfully, still trying to regain his breath as he reaches up to wipe a tear off one corner of his eye.

“Wow. That was weirdly disheartening,” Junmyeon says, looking, true to his words, disheartened.

“Sorry,” Chanyeol says, still smiling as he leans back in his seat and goes back to his laptop, internally wondering if the same goes for Jongdae.

 

 

With Jinho being busy with a week full of meetings regarding the promotional methods and performances of his upcoming album, and then another full week-long shedule of actual promotions and live performances, Chanyeol doesn’t get to meet him face-to-face, not even at all, and it feels a little empty after seeing Jinho almost every weekday, like it’s a habit. Chanyeol only gets to call him the night of the album release, sincerely and proudly congratulating him for it, and then again an hour later for hitting the number one spot on three music charts within an hour after its release.

The album is a huge success. It’s expected of a singer with a flourishing career like Jinho, but it still makes Chanyeol no less proud of him, making sure he’s always tuned in to monitor Jinho’s performances on music shows and the general audiences’ varying responses regarding the songs listed in the album.

Chanyeol watches as Jinho perform through the screen of his laptop in his studio, and thinks, like he often does, that Jinho does, truly, deserve this.

 

 

Chanyeol shouldn’t be surprised that if Baekhyun can, Jongdae, as a fellow hybrid, is probably able to, as well.

He has been distracted by (and maybe gotten used to) Jongdae’s increasing proximity the more they interact with each other, the subtle touches and the lingering gazes and the alluring smiles and a lot more, that Chanyeol, sometimes, disregards the maybe (absolutely) fact that he’s starting to fall for Jongdae.

It’s only when everyone else is out, Jongdae approaching Chanyeol and subsequently cornering him against a wall on a Saturday morning, that the exact matter Chanyeol has involuntarily been trying to escape comes to him like touching a burning hot surface and painfully trying to muffle a curse under his breath.

“You’re interested in me,” Jongdae states, like it’s a fact, ears up and attentive and his eyes determined, searching.

Chanyeol gulps. “What?”

“You’re attracted to me,” Jongdae repeats. His teeth bite into his plush bottom lip, suddenly looking a little hesitant. “I can,” Jongdae says, chuckling a bit embarrassedly at himself, “well, I can smell it.”

Of course.

Chanyeol’s heart might be beating a little faster than usual as Jongdae looks up at him through his perfectly curled lashes and beautiful eyes, and he can already feel the heat creeping up his neck as Jongdae takes a step foward.

“Are you,” Jongdae asks, wets his lips with a pink tongue, “are you interested in me, Chanyeol?”

“I’m allergic to cats,” Chanyeol blurts out, before he can catch himself.

Jongdae doesn’t seem fazed by it, though, doesn’t look bothered that Chanyeol has just replied to his question with an entirely unrelated and potentially offensive topic.

It’s like he’s already _known_ all along.

“Why?”

Chanyeol blinks. “Why... what?”

“Why are you allergic to cats?”

“Do I,” Chanyeol ponders out loud, “have to have a specific reason to be allergic to cats?”

Something clicks in Jongdae; Chanyeol can see it from the way he purses his pretty lips, looking like he’s holding in an exasperated sigh. “ _How_ are you allergic to cats, Chanyeol?”

Oh, that.

Chanyeol lets himself think, tries to recall the doctor’s words that time when he was nine, sitting neatly in the doctor’s office with concerned parents by his side. Jongdae waits patiently. Chanyeol doesn’t remember anything. He’s never bothered giving the details a second thought. Allergy is allergy; what’s the difference?

Jongdae takes a tentative step forward, but when he touches his fingers to Chanyeol’s upper arm, it’s assertive, confident.

“Uh, hair?” Chanyeol guesses, hesitantly. “Fur?”

He takes Jongdae’s hand in his – the one leaving goosebumps on his arm – and Jongdae visibly relaxes at that. This is new. They don’t hold hands, not like this, not- _this_ is _new_.

“We don’t- hair, or fur, is not an allergent, Chanyeol.”

Chanyeol is sure the way his name rolls in Jongdae’s tongue is making him feel things, that happy churn in his stomach and the warmth that travels to every nook of his body, making him want to tug at the hand in his grip, to pull Jongdae closer, even as his mind blares red lights at him in clear warning.

Jongdae seems to think the same, inviting himself into Chanyeol’s personal space, tightening his fingers around Chanyeol’s, intertwining them together.

“Is it the dander? Saliva? Urine?” he tries, looking up at Chanyeol through the flutter of his long, long eyelashes. Chanyeol gulps. When he shakes his head, Jongdae smiles. “Symptoms?”

This, Chanyeol knows. “My nose starts itching. You’ve seen the sneezing. I cough sometimes. I had wheezing, just once, when I was nine.”

Jongdae hums, low in his throat, one of his ears twitching interestedly. “Nothing serious, then.”

He seems content to have succeeded in cornering Chanyeol. His back is met with the wall when he makes a step back, and Jongdae snickers, obviously pleased. Chanyeol seconds that.

“Are kisses okay? Should we test on saliva?” Jongdae asks, _offers_ , like he’s an allergist and Chanyeol is his patient, except doctors don’t talk like they want to bed him.

Jongdae’s lips brush against his cheek, and Chanyeol tilts his head until he can kiss Jongdae properly, mouth to mouth, Jongdae’s lips soft and eager against his, the response immediate. And it’s- okay, Chanyeol can be sure by now that it’s definitely not the saliva.

Jongdae is unrelenting, his free hand holding Chanyeol in place by his shoulder and his front pressed to Chanyeol lke a barricade, like Chanyeol is going to escape if he doesn’t. Chanyeol doesn’t intend to do so. What he intends to, though, is suck Jongdae’s bottom lip and nip at it until Jongdae’s nails dig into his skin and lick at Jongdae’s teeth and the roof of his mouth until Jongdae whimpers feverishly into his mouth, all pliant and wanting and pressing close.

It’s hot, so hot. Chanyeol has never expected anything good to come out of living with four cat hybrids he’s clearly allergic to, let alone for him to be making out with one of them, and not just some cat hybrid, this is _Jongdae_. The Jongdae Chanyeol’s spent days ogling at every chance he gets, the Jongdae who walks around topless and Chanyeol’s pretty sure he’s not supposed to stare but he _wants_.

Chanyeol thinks he’s lucky Jongdae wants him, too.

Jongdae leans into the touch when Chanyeol rests his hand on Jongdae’s face, his jaw, his nape, pulls at Chanyeol’s upper lip when he circles an arm around Jongdae’s tiny hip to pull him close, impossibly closer.

Chanyeol can’t help the low moan that he lets out when Jongdae pulls away from the kiss to suck at his jaw, his neck, the dip of his collarbone, and back up to his neck, teeth and tongue working flawlessly as they suck at all the right places. When Chanyeol buries his face in Jongdae’s hair, it’s with relish, and when he slots his thigh between Jongdae’s legs for him to grind on, it’s shrouded with heavy want, but when Chanyeol’s nose brushes against Jongdae’s ear, the ear twitching as he grazes the tip of his nose against it, the sudden, all too familiar itch that invades his nose takes him off-guard and the sneeze that he lets out is pure instinct.

Jongdae backs away almost immediately, blinking thoughtfully as Chanyeol sneezes twice more, and then one last time, smiling sheepishly as he brushes his itchy nose with the back of his hand.

“Dander it is, then,” Jongdae concludes, trailing his hands up Chanyeol’s arms, holding him steady, his tail flicking behind him. “Free for a doctor’s appointment tomorrow?”

 

 

Chanyeol and Jongdae leave for the hospital at nine the next day. It’s a Sunday, so everyone’s at home, except for Junmyeon who seems to have Sundays especially reserved for his boyfriend only (like it is almost every free time he gets).

The look Minseok gives them as they past the living room, Jongdae’s arm unabashedly curled around Chanyeol’s middle, is a subtle one, but Chanyeol can see the glint in his eyes, that knowing tilt of his head, and the way his tail flicks behind him as he turns back to his book, feigning ignorance. Jongin, though, looks over indifferently, and Chanyeol is weirdly thankful for that.

Jongdae won’t stop touching him, not on the way to the hospital, not at the hospital, not even in the appointment room. He only lets go when Chanyeol has to go for a blood test (Jongdae is right; it’s the dander), and wouldn’t stop smiling like he’s just sprouted a brilliant idea when the doctor suggests bathing to temporarily reduce the amount of allergen.

Chanyeol barely succeeds in placing his shoes on the shoe rack before Jongdae is pulling him toward Chanyeol’s side of the unit and into his bathroom.

“What are you doing?” Chanyeol inquires, even as he steps into the shower readily.

He’s pretty sure they’re going too fast (although he can’t say he’s against it). Plus, Junmyeon and Jongin might still be in the house.

“Shower,” Jongdae answers, an adorable smile on his face as he advances toward Chanyeol, and Chanyeol suddenly feels a little suffocated at the lack of distance. It’s a good feeling. “If we shower while at it, then maybe, _maybe_ , you won’t have it as bad.”

Chanyeol isn’t sure if he’s into this kind of thing, allergies or not, but it’s... tempting. “Are you sure you want this?” Chanyeol asks, as Jongdae smooths a palm down his clothed chest, touch feathery over the hoodie he’s wearing.

Jongdae’s hand stops in its track, retracting almost immediately. “Do you not want this? I’m sorry, I- I got a little carried away. I’m sorry, we can stop if you-”

“No! No, I mean,” Chanyeol amends, taking Jongdae’s hand in his, “it’s okay. I want this.”

It takes Jongdae a moment of pondering, frowning slightly at Chanyeol and a little hesitant still, before he’s advancing forward and craning his neck up to press his mouth against Chanyeol’s.

Kissing is good. Chanyeol likes kissing, enjoys kissing when Jongdae is so eager for it and his mouth feels as wet and plush as it looks like. He lets out a pleased hum when Jongdae shifts to bury his fingers in his hair, tugging lightly as he presses closer against Chanyeol, closer until Chanyeol can feel the hard tiles of the wall behind through the material of his hoodie.

Chanyeol responds by enveloping his arms around Jongdae’s middle. He’s so tiny, so delicate yet assertive in Chanyeol’s arms, and Chanyeol takes the opportunity to slip his hands under the hem of Jongdae’s shirt, flatten his palms on the warm skin of his back and bring him closer still.

“Then _please_ ,” Jongdae whimpers, breathless. “I’ve been waiting for so long. I _want_ this.”

“Fuck,” Chanyeol says into the kiss, fervent and heady and sloppy and Chanyeol only wants more.

“I’ve been half-hard since we were at the hospital,” Jongdae confesses, moving closer until they’re pressed hip-to-hip, until Chanyeol can feel the hint of Jongdae’s arousal through their jeans.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Chanyeol breathes out, pulling apart slightly so he can rid Jongdae of his shirt.

Jongdae seems to agree with him, reaching out to take Chanyeol’s hoodie off. “I love seeing you in oversized hoodies so much,” he says, chucking the piece of clothing away as Chanyeol does the same to Jongdae’s. “But this one wins it all,” he finishes, eyes raking down Chanyeol’s chest and abdomen, making Chanyeol feel hot all over.

Chanyeol pushes Jongdae until he reaches the opposite wall of the shower, smirking when Jongdae grunts in response. It’s not like Chanyeol’s never seen Jongdae shirtless, but the view doesn’t cease to mesmerize him, the defined muscles that decorate his lean build so magnificently. Chanyeol doesn’t think it’s a sight he’ll ever get tired of seeing, of _touching_.

The moan that Jongdae lets out when Chanyeol dives in for a deep kiss makes Chanyeol weak on the knees. He takes both of their pants off with minimal floundering and, after getting rid of those, reaches back blindly to turn the faucet on, grunting into Jongdae’s mouth when the cold water hits his back refreshingly.

“You’re so hot,” Chanyeol tells Jongdae, pulling him under the shower with him.

Jongdae looks, if anything, fucking amazing when he’s wet, water dripping down his fringe and face and chest and abdomen when Chanyeol turns the faucet off to get a clearer view. Jongdae is also hard, his cock curved against his stomach in protest. Chanyeol reaches for the bottle of soap and pours some onto his hand, and doesn’t waste his time to get right down to business. Jongdae hisses when Chanyeol rubs at his neck, lathers soap all over his shoulders and down to his toned arms, his small hands (not significantly smaller than Chanyeol’s, he decides).

The way his hands travel down Jongdae’s naked skin so smoothly and without restriction sends heat surging south of Chanyeol’s abdomen, even more when Jongdae moans loudly as Chanyeol presses his thumbs down his nipples. He dives in to bite at Jongdae’s bottom lip, already swollen red, and Jongdae lets out a heavy moan into his mouth when Chanyeol takes his cock in his hand, hip stuttering in accordance with the slow movement of Chanyeol’s hand.

Jongdae looks so delicate covered in white bubbles of soap, feels so smooth and slick and heavy in Chanyeol’s hand as he pumps him fast and fast and faster, until Jongdae is panting into his mouth and pressing his fingers into Chanyeol’s sides, blunt nails digging into his skin.

Chanyeol turns the faucet back on, pulling Jongdae under the shower and rinsing him clean. The thing that Chanyeol learns as he rubs his hands all over Jongdae to get the soap off him is that Jongdae gets unusually pliant in the shower. Chanyeol finds it amusing, the way Jongdae lets him move him however he wants, turn him this way and that way and not once touching his cock, now red and thick with want.

Chanyeol is caught off-guard when Jongdae turns the faucet off and pushes him until his back hits against the wall behind, his shoulder blades smarting in mild pain but the bite that Jongdae executes into the side of his neck winning his attention.

“You’ve known all along that I’m allergic to cats,” Chanyeol accuses, as Jongdae bites his way down Chanyeol’s front, seemingly content with licking all over his chest and down to his abdomen, the sensation sending a burning trail down Chanyeol’s skin.

“Well, I have eyes,” Jongdae says into Chanyeol’s stomach, planting a weaker bite there.

Chanyeol hisses into the air, drops his hands onto Jongdae’s shoulders for leverage. “But Jongin doesn’t-”

Jongdae gets to his knees, snorts. “Jongin is _sixteen_. He doesn’t know a lot of things.” When Jongdae noses at his hipbone teasingly, Chanyeol presses down in hopes that Jongdae gets the silent message. “The kid thinks you have intense nasal conditions.”

“An infectious one,” Chanyeol adds, recalling how wary Jongin looks whenever he’s around.

Jongdae hums distractedly, shutting the topic down, seeming like he’s gotten Chanyeol’s message as he displays more interest in lowering himself down even further until he’s face-to-face with Chanyeol’s neglected cock.

Jongdae doesn’t wait for Chanyeol’s cue, doesn’t waste any time before he’s taking Chanyeol’s length into his mouth, the sudden enveloping heat making Chanyeol curse under his breath and his head hitting the wall behind as he bucks into Jongdae’s mouth. It’s hot – Jongdae’s mouth suckling around the head of his cock – and it’s cold – the wet tiles against his bare back – and Chanyeol is a mess of _too much_ and _not enough_ as he starts fucking himself into Jongdae’s mouth, Jongdae readily bobbing his head in rhythm.

It’s difficult to resist bucking up when Jongdae is dragging his rough tongue down the underside of Chanyeol’s cock, hard to stand properly on his two feet when Jongdae is looking up at him through his pretty, pretty lashes like he’s the most beautiful being Chanyeol has ever seen.

Hell, who is Chanyeol kidding? Jongdae _is_ the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Chanyeol voices out loud as Jongdae takes one of his balls in his hand, fondling the sack softly, the slow movement a distinct contrast against the rapid, uncontrollable stutter of Chanyeol’s hip.

“Yeah?” Jongdae mutters, voice muffled around Chanyeol’s hard cock and hands retreating to brace them against the wall by Chanyeol’s sides.

It doesn’t take much to bring Chanyeol to the edge, not when he’s been aroused since they got into the bathroom, not when Jongdae looks so delectable like this, his hair clinging to his forehead and the stretch of his mouth around Chanyeol’s cock one hell of a sight he doubts he’ll ever be able to get out of his head.

Chanyeol feels heat coiling in his stomach, Jongdae bobbing his head faster and sucking around his cock harder, and then he’s coming hard into Jongdae’s mouth, Jongdae pulling back only a little late.

Chanyeol slumps against the wall, bathing under the remnants of his orgasmic high as he tries to regain his breath. The tiles are cool against his back still, but his skin tingles with a pleasant warmth that trickles down his spine, and he looks down to see Jongdae looking up at him with a satisfied smile on his face. Chanyeol pulls him up – though Jongdae does most of the work – and wipes the smear of cum off Jongdae’s chin with the back of his hand, before giving him a peck on the high of his cheekbone.

For a moment it feels so serene that Chanyeol nearly forgets that Jongdae is still very much hard.

He quickly takes Jongdae’s cock in his hand, fingers wrapped around the girth and palm dragging down the shaft. Jongdae’s wanton moan bounces off the walls in perfect echoes that slide into Chanyeol’s ears in a pleasant hum, and Chanyeol is happy to give Jongdae everything he wants, give Jongdae what he asks for between breathy mewls as he thrusts into Jongdae’s hold, his forehead resting on Chanyeol’s shoulder and their legs touching.

Chanyeol doesn’t mind that each buck of Jongdae’s hip forces him against the cold, hard tiles. He noses at Jongdae’s jaw to pry Jongdae to look up, and when he does, Chanyeol takes a moment to take in the alluringly debauched look on Jongdae’s face before he’s biting into the soft skin of Jongdae’s neck gently, sucking at the sweet spot and drinking in the muffled moan that Jongdae lets out from where he’s buried his face into Chanyeol’s shoulder again.

Chanyeol digs his fingers into one of the stout cheeks of Jongdae’s ass. It’s as plump as Chanyeol imagines whenever Jongdae sways his clothed butt as he walks, and the whimper that Jongdae lets out as he tries to grind both forward into Chanyeol’s pumping hand and backward into Chanyeol’s squeezing fingers is immensely rewarding. He’s so focused on stroking Jongdae’s cock, hard and heavy and leaking precum at the tip, that he’s taken by surprise when his other hand slides down Jongdae’s ass and slips to his crack to find that Jongdae is _wet_.

“Jongdae, you-”

“We- hybrids self-lubricate,” Jongdae pants into Chanyeol’s shoulder, rocking into Chanyeol’s tight grip unceasingly.

“Self- what?” Chanyeol asks, although he doesn’t stop stroking Jongdae, dragging his fingers up and down Jongdae’s cock because Jongdae is close, so close, so full in Chanyeol’s hands.

Jongdae shakes his head, the soft strands of his hair ticklish against Chanyeol’s cheek. “Can we- we’ll talk about this later, okay? Fuck, Chanyeol, _please_.”

So Chanyeol shuts up and gets down to business. He pumps Jongdae faster, teases at Jongdae’s puckered hole with his other hand as Jongdae buries his moans into Chanyeol’s shoulder, careful to keep his ears away from direct contact to Chanyeol’s face. It’s hot and a little cramped, but Jongdae’s nails digging both painfully and pleasantly into his sides makes him forget about it all, his focus completely on Jongdae and the way he whimpers in Chanyeol’s hold, so close to the edge.

Jongdae comes with a whole body shudder. He spills all over their stomachs and Chanyeol holds him through it, lets Jongdae cling to him as he comes down from his high, so worn out and sated and soft. Chanyeol holds him until Jongdae regains his stance and proceeds to turn the faucet back on. Jongdae hums contently as water pours down his hair and face and trickles down the defined muscles of his stomach, pecking Chanyeol on one edge of his mouth with a soft smile on his face before pulling Chanyeol under the showers with him.

This is nice. Chanyeol isn’t sure where they’re going with this, or with anything at all, really, but this is nice. Jongdae lathering soap all over Chanyeol’s body feels nice, his small hands over Chanyeol’s broad shoulders and his tiny frame enveloping Chanyeol so he can clean Chanyeol’s back, the touch gentle and thorough. Jongdae doesn’t forget to clean his tail and ears himself so Chanyeol doesn’t have to risk doing it, but lets Chanyeol clean the remaining parts of his body, lets Chanyeol lather soap bubbles all over him for a second time until he’s mewling in muted pleasure.

It’s nice like this, a picture of perfection as water streams down Jongdae’s body, washing off the soap and cleansing him clean. He’s perfect, water trickling down his face and his long, long lashes resting against his rosy cheeks and high cheekbones, the way his mouth drops open in pleasure as water flows down refreshingly.

This is nice, and this is fine, Chanyeol internally justifies, as he noses down Jongdae’s jaw and kisses the faint dimple on his cheek when Jongdae smiles brightly at him. This is what Chanyeol wants.

 

 

“I see you’ve been too busy for me again,” is Chanyeol’s greeting when Jinho stops by his studio. It’s been more than a couple of weeks since he last saw Jinho and, although Chanyeol won’t ever say it out loud lest Jinho starts rubbing his face all over Chanyeol’s fondly, he missed him.

“Thanks to you,” is Jinho’s warm reply, his tail wagging happily behind him. “So have you suffered from caffeine deficiency yet?” he teases, and Chanyeol can’t help but smile when Jinho reveals the takeaway coffee he’s been hiding behind his back, like the child he is.

“Where would I be if you weren’t here to take care of my non-existent caffeine needs?” Chanyeol acquiesces jokingly.

“C’mere, give your best man a hug,” Jinho says, placing the coffee onto Chanyeol’s desk and stepping into Chanyeol’s personal space easily.

Jinho always gives the best hugs. He’s warm and willing and snuggly and it’s a little ticklish but no less nice when he buries his face in Chanyeol’s neck. His tail wags behind him and it’s so adorable and Chanyeol’s heart swells with the thought that someone in this world can be so pleased to see him, cares for him so much like a brother would. Chanyeol hugs him back just as tightly because he’s missed having Jinho here, missed him bringing Chanyeol coffee even if he doesn’t necessarily need it, missed Jinho’s company and talks, missed-

“ _Cats_!” exclaims Jinho, yanking Chanyeol out of his reverie as he pulls back and looks at Chanyeol with an affronted face.

Chanyeol’s heart shrinks like a deflating balloon. God, not again.

Jinho looks like a constipated puppy as he mouths something, trying to say anything but no words come out. Chanyeol can practically see the gears in his head turning, his face showing contemplation and indignation and incredulity all at once.

“I left you for a few weeks and you got _five cats_?” Jinho shrieks, finally, looking at Chanyeol like this is something he can’t process, like Chanyeol has just done the most offensively unexpected thing he’s ever done.

He probably has.

“I-”

“Three cats,” Jinho decides, still glaring at Chanyeol, then inches in to take a strong sniff of him. “Four, but one smells so strongly- Oh my god, did the cat rut on you?” he screeches, face contorting in disgust.

Chanyeol opens his mouth to protest, but finds that Jinho is, well, not wrong.

“I can explain,” Chanyeol insists, putting on a hopeful look.

Jinho doesn’t look affected by it in any way. “I- Chanyeol, but- You are _allergic_ to _cats_ , I don’t- What the fuck is happening? What the _hell_ were you thinking? Were you even _thinking_?”

Chanyeol sighs. “My housemates are cat hybrids,” he confesses, giving in.

If anything, Jinho looks even more offensed. “What?” he shrieks, even louder, his voice reverberating off the walls of Chanyeol’s studio so aesthetically but the look on his face something Chanyeol wishes was never directed at him.

“Jinho, calm down.”

Jinho doesn’t calm down. “Are you out of your mind?”

“Do you want to sit down?” Chanyeol offers, pushing a chair toward him.

Jinho looks down at the chair, considers for a moment as he sports a harmed facial expression still, before taking the seat.

Chanyeol drops to his swivel chair. “I can explain.”

Jinho frowns at him. “I don’t get it.”

“I’m fine, Jinho,” Chanyeol assures him. “I’m healthy and have only had minor sneezes and I’m fine. It’s not that serious.”

The frown doesn’t fade, though it does subside a little, Jinho relaxing marginally. “That’s not a reasonable excuse for you to live with four cat hybrids. You’re still allergic to them.”

“Yes, I am, but,” Chanyeol starts, and... well, he doesn’t have a but. He sighs.

“I’m dropping by after work. I’m walking you home and I’m going to have to meet your housemates and I don’t care whatever you have to say about this, because you don’t have a say in this,” Jinho tells him, with finality. The look on his face is a stern one Chanyeol knows he can’t oppose no matter what he says.

“I’m allowed to do whatever I want,” Chanyeol says, anyway, pouting as he reaches for the coffee on the desk.

Jinho doesn’t waver. “No. Not when you’re shit at taking care of yourself.”

 

 

When Jinho mentioned about coming over right after work, Chanyeol expected for at least three of them to have a talk – Chanyeol, Jinho, and at least one of the brothers. That’s not what happened and is definitely not what is happening. Now Chanyeol is outside, sitting primly on the couch in the living room as he waits for Jinho and Jongdae to emerge from where they’re talking in Jongdae’s room.

“I need to be objective about this,” Jinho had said, when Chanyeol gave him a betrayed look.

It’s nearly ten minutes later (Chanyeol knows, because he can’t stop glancing at the wall clock) when the two finally steps out of Jongdae’s room. Jinho excuses himself to the bathroom at Chanyeol’s side of the unit.

“Was that it?” Chanyeol asks, watching the bathroom door Jinho disappeared into.

Jongdae takes the empty space beside Chanyeol. “Yep.”

“And he let you go? Just like that?”

“Gladly.”

Chanyeol opens his hand when Jongdae reaches out to flatten his palm over it, fingers playing with Chanyeol’s longer ones absent-mindedly. “What happened?”

“Well, I have a couple of his albums and sang him one of his songs and he told me I have a nice voice,” Jongdae reveals, a pleased smile on his face.

Of all the things Jinho could have done or told Jongdae, that definitely is not what came to Chanyeol’s mind.

Jongdae retreats his hand from Chanyeol’s hold to cup Chanyeol’s cheek, his gaze soft and fond. “Oh, Chanyeol. You’re just terrible at problem solving.”

Chanyeol’s pretty sure the confused face he’s sporting isn’t attractive, but Jongdae pats his cheek fondly, anyway, smiling in understanding.

Later, as he walks Jinho out, Chanyeol protests, “You let him go just like that.”

Jinho blinks at him. “He’s a nice person.”

Chanyeol is baffled. “I’m _allergic_ to _cats_. I can’t believe _you_ , my best friend, let my boyfriend, a cat hybrid whom I’m constantly interacting with both romantically and sexually, go just like that.”

“I can’t believe all this time I’ve been trying to hook you up with humans and dogs and bunnies, not knowing that you’re actually into cats,” Jinho counters, bending down to put his shoes on.

The grumble that Jinho lets out when Chanyeol flips his ear inside out in retaliation puts the satisfaction to place.

 

 

If Chanyeol thinks Jongin’s fear of contracting his supposedly intense nasal conditions would subside as time passes, he’s wrong.

They’re sitting in the living room on a Saturday afternoon, all serene and pleasant like how peaceful housemates are supposed to be, until Jongin enters the scene after a lunch out with Zitao and some of his other friends and refuses to take the last empty spot that so happens to be the couch Chanyeol is sitting on.

“Jesus Christ, Jongin, Chanyeol doesn’t-”

“You can always isolate yourself in your room if the idea of getting together like a harmonious family bothers you,” Jongdae says, smiling warmly at Jongin like he hasn’t just interrupted Junmyeon.

Junmyeon frowns at Jongdae. Jongin pouts at Jongdae. Jongdae doesn’t seem the least bothered by any of those. Minseok watches from the sidelines in mild amusement.

“I’ll tell you when it’s time for dinner,” Jongdae says, still smiling kindly at Jongin. He gives Junmyeon a subtle kick on the leg and a threatening look when Junmyeon opens his mouth to speak.

Jongin stares at Chanyeol cautiously and casts worried glances at his brothers. Chanyeol decides, smartly, to sniff and rub at his nose for special effect, and that’s all it takes for Jongin’s eyes to widen and his ears to perk up in alert before he’s making his way to his room, the door slammed shut in a matter of seconds.

The silence is broken when Minseok snorts unabashedly. “That was hilarious,” he tells Chanyeol, and Chanyeol flashes him a proud smile.

“Why didn’t you let me tell him the truth?” Junmyeon demands, turning to Jongdae with an affronted look on his face.

Jongdae just shrugs. “It’s more entertaining this way.”

Chanyeol knows, if anything, he’s definitely chosen the right person for a boyfriend.

 

 

Chanyeol isn’t shocked when he goes home from work to find Jongdae in his room, hard and leaking and writhing on his bed as he rocks his hip into his pumping hand, his other hand clutching desperately at the sheets underneath.

Chanyeol simply complies when Jongdae instructs him, rather breathily, to remove his clothes and _get the fuck on bed what the hell are you waiting for?_

Chanyeol doesn’t ask when he gets a clearer view of Jongdae and sees that he’s sweating all over, beads of sweat running down the sides of his neck and arms and his cock hard and heavy against his stomach. The self-lubrication is leaking out of his ass nearly twice as much as Chanyeol is used to seeing, but Chanyeol just gets between Jongdae’s readily open legs silently and takes his cock in his hand, rubs up and down the length like the good boyfriend he is.

Chanyeol _is_ , though, taken by surprise when, after coming, cum staining his own torso and Chanyeol’s hands, it’s only a matter of seconds before liquid is trickling down Jongdae’s crack again, the sight making heat churn pleasantly in Chanyeol’s stomach and confusion forming in his head. When Chanyeol looks up, Jongdae’s getting hard again.

“Jongdae-”

“I need you, Chanyeol. Fuck me. _Please_ ,” Jongdae pants as he thrusts into Chanyeol’s still hand, hip rocking down as if in invitation.

A tiny part of Chanyeol worries because Jongdae isn’t normally this excited and desperate about sex (they’re both excited about sex, but never quite as uncontrolled as this) but Chanyeol can’t refuse when Jongdae looks so beautiful panting on the bed, moaning and twisting and grunting and forcing himself up in heated desire. Chanyeol watches Jongdae writhe on the bed, watches the desperation contorting his face and feels Jongdae’s burning hands roam down his naked chest, searching, clinging, digging into the flesh, the muscles on Chanyeol’s arms.

The moan that Jongdae lets out when Chanyeol finally enters him is loud and sends a new wave of arousal surging down to Chanyeol’s groin, adding to the heady heat enveloping him as Jongdae meets his thrusts readily and flexes around him and wouldn’t stop. The first glide in has never been this smooth. Jongdae’s ability to self-lubricate has served them more good than not, but it has never been this smooth, this easy and unhindered for Chanyeol to fuck himself into Jongdae, not when he hasn’t even prepared him beforehand. Hell, Jongdae is so fucking wet, Chanyeol can feel it, the slick slide of his cock against Jongdae’s constricting wall and the squelching sounds they make whenever their hips meet.

Chanyeol dives in to nose down Jongdae’s sweaty neck, bite into the skin because he knows it only heightens the sensation for Jongdae, because Chanyeol is keen to do the slightest things to make Jongdae feel good. He rests his hands on Jongdae’s tiny hip, fingers delving into the dip of his hipbone and keeping him still as Chanyeol rams hard into him, fucks him good until Jongdae’s screaming the most beautiful sounds Chanyeol has ever heard. Jongdae can’t thrust down, can’t fuck himself down onto Chanyeol, not with Chanyeol holding him in place like this, but Chanyeol finds Jongdae doesn’t have the energy to complain nor the need to tell Chanyeol to let him go and do what he pleases, not when Chanyeol’s giving him everything he wants because Jongdae deserves it.

Jongdae is responsive and pliant and Chanyeol is burning hot all over, Jongdae’s ass around his cock a delicious heat and the pleasure that emanates taking his body whole. Chanyeol licks down Jongdae’s jaw, kisses the tip of his nose fondly, bites into his lower lip and finally kisses him fully on the mouth as Jongdae lets out a delectable moan, so fucking beautiful and perfect.

When Jongdae comes, he shakes all over, spurting white all over his own stomach as Chanyeol keeps him down with his hands. His fingers dig into Jongdae’s hip, calloused skin against unearthly perfection as Chanyeol comes into Jongdae and it has never felt so good. Jongdae clenching around him and his own slow, worn out thrusts help to draw it out a bit longer before he’s slumping onto Jongdae’s sweaty chest, finally content to rest after a whole day of work, happy to curl into Jongdae’s embrace even if they’re disgusting and the sheets are dirty and-

The rapid rise and fall of Jongdae’s chest and the breathy pants that he lets out demands otherwise.

“Chanyeol,” Jongdae pleads, Chanyeol’s name sliding richly down his tongue in a sweet, desperate whimper.

Chanyeol gives in to the temptation of licking over one of Jongdae’s kitty curls before pulling away to get a proper view of Jongdae, and, well, he’s hard again.

“Jongdae, what’s-”

“There’s a box under the bed and I want you to get the pink one inside,” Jongdae instructs unabashedly, his cock curved to his stomach and his chest heaving in unsated want.

Chanyeol does as he’s instructed. He has encountered plenty of novel matters regarding Jongdae’s physical and behavioural cat features, big and small, but it’s never been this extreme. Jongdae won’t stop leaking, won’t stop getting hard no matter what Chanyeol does. Chanyeol can’t imagine how long Jongdae has been squirming and writhing and moaning desperately on his own bed with no one to help him, to satiate his heavy desires that refuses to subside.

It’s a dildo. It’s a dildo, except when Chanyeol presses one of the buttons, the tip fucking _enlarges_.

“This is weirdly intimidating,” Chanyeol says, casting glances back and forth from Jongdae to the toy in his hand.

Chanyeol wasn’t aware that this is the kind of thing that Jongdae is into. Is Chanyeol supposed to live up to this expectation? He’s pretty sure his dick can’t do this.

“In me,” Jongdae says, hip lifting off the bed sheets minutely and his voice hoarse, his lips swollen red from where Chanyeol’s kissed them.

Chanyeol still doesn’t really get what’s happening, but he complies, anyway, crawling back between Jongdae’s beautiful thighs and inserting the dildo in one swift move. The moan that Jongdae lets out is loud and obscene, drawn out as Chanyeol fucks the dildo into him rapidly, the slide in and out smooth and the sight mouthwatering.

Not having his dick inside Jongdae means Chanyeol gets to have a clearer view of the whole thing, of Jongdae fucking himself onto the dildo, of how Chanyeol imagines Jongdae fucks himself onto Chanyeol, hip rocking unrelentingly and readily meeting his thrusts. Chanyeol lowers himself down to take Jongdae’s nipple in his mouth. Jongdae’s back arches off the bed in immediate response, the cry of pleasure that he lets out something Chanyeol stores neatly at the back of his head, keeps it along with the many other attributes of Jongdae that Chanyeol doesn’t mind waking up or going home to for the rest of his life.

“The button,” Jongdae whimpers.

It’s hard to look down when he has his tongue all over Jongdae’s chest, but Chanyeol succeeds in pressing the button with minimal fumbling, and the immediate groan that Jongdae lets out causes a new wave of heat to surge down Chanyeol’s stomach, churning and coiling until he feels himself getting hard again. Chanyeol fucks the dildo into Jongdae until the ache in his own cock starts to edge in progressively, until the tip of the dildo catches at Jongdae’s rim and Jongdae’s moan goes especially obscene, like he’s in an utter, unimaginable pleasure as he clutches tightly into the comforter and his knuckles go red in protest.

Jongdae’s grinding himself onto the dildo now, Chanyeol unable to do much work and only watching the scene unfold before him as Jongdae doesn’t slow down. The inviting way in which his mouth hangs open and the hooded gaze directed at Chanyeol are things that only adds to the curling heat in Chanyeol’s groin. The dildo won’t pull back no matter what Chanyeol does, but Jongdae seems keen to grind on it and force it into himself even more.

Jongdae comes for a third time with his teeth digging into his bottom lip, the moan that he lets out only slightly muffled. Chanyeol doesn’t need to be told to flick the button off, and after a while, he’s able to pull the dildo back out, the whole length slick with Jongdae’s natural lubricant.

Chanyeol puts the toy away and is about to lie on the bed, but Jongdae’s hand on his arm stops him.

“Not over,” Jongdae says, shaking his head. “I need- Chanyeol, I want you to prepare yourself for me. Can you do that?”

Hold on. “What?”

Jongdae tightens his grip around his arm. “I want to fuck you.”

Really, it’s not about whether Jongdae is getting straight to the point or not. It’s just that, Chanyeol might be getting a little hard, but he’s had his release already, and it’s not something he can’t hold in and let subside. He’s just gone home from work, and although he’s not extremely tired, he can definitely do with some rest. If Jongdae is doing this because Chanyeol is getting visibly hard, he needs to know that Chanyeol is okay, that Jongdae probably needs the rest more than Chanyeol does, that-

“ _Chanyeol_ ,” Jongdae calls out, getting his attention back.

“Jongdae-”

“Put your face to your shirt and get on all fours.”

When Chanyeol looks down to check, Jongdae is getting hard again. And, really, Chanyeol doesn’t understand what’s going on still, but he does as he’s told, picking his shirt off the floor and placing it on the bed so he can press his face to it, as a last-minute barrier. It worked relatively well the first time they tried it, and Chanyeol can only hope it won’t disappoint this time, either.

Chanyeol gasps when he feels the cold sensation of lube against his crack, moaning into his own shirt when he feels Jongdae insert two fingers into him. Fuck, he’s hard again, his cock hanging heavily between his legs and throbbing in protest as Jongdae holds him up with a strong hand on his hip, his fingers opening Chanyeol up progressively.

Chanyeol is a moaning mess when Jongdae inserts a fourth finger into him. The huge contrast between the cold lube and the burning stretch of Jongdae’s fingers only heightens the pleasure even more, Chanyeol’s hip rocking back desperately as he buries down the urge to touch himself. With Chanyeol stretched wet and nice, Jongdae doesn’t waste any time before inserting himself into Chanyeol. His thumbs hold Chanyeol open as he slides in, the motion only slightly hindered, before he’s pulling back and sliding back in, building friction, making it feel good.

Jongdae reaches over to rub at Chanyeol’s nipple, and although it’s not the place Chanyeol most wants his hand to be at, Chanyeol takes it all, will take in whatever Jongdae lets him have. Jongdae’s hip is unforgiving, his thrusts going faster and deeper after every slide out, and Chanyeol forces himself up and back to meet Jongdae’s thrusts, wills himself to push back as the sensation hangs heavy in his stomach, each thrust only pushing him closer to the edge.

Chanyeol thinks he’s imagining the way Jongdae’s cock gets larger in his ass. It must be his walls contracting and clenching because he _wants_ this so much, Chanyeol thinks, except when Jongdae doesn’t – _can’t_ – pull out fully anymore, Chanyeol doubts that’s the case at all. Jongdae only keeps pushing forward, his hip now stuttering uncontrollably like he’s trying to dig deeper, push even further into Chanyeol until the tip of his cock hits Chanyeol’s prostrate and Chanyeol thinks he’s seeing stars. Jongdae doesn’t stop even after that, only keeps on pushing forward as his cock seems to _grow_ in girth inside Chanyeol, the tip stretching and stretching and stretching and, fuck, Chanyeol doesn’t think he can-

And then something clicks.

Chanyeol’s dick being not enough to satisfy Jongdae’s heat-induced desire, the enlarging tip feature of the dildo, Jongdae only wanting more and more because it’s _not enough_. And, fuck. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_. Chanyeol is-

“Jongdae. Jongdae, listen-”

He’s never done this before.

“Jongdae, I don’t think i can- _fucking hell_.”

Chanyeol can imagine the bulbous tip enlarging in him, stretching him open to his limit as Jongdae continues to grind into him. Hell, Chanyeol can fucking _feel_ it in him, the thick girth against his walls and the bulging tip against his prostrate, pushing into him until Chanyeol is panting and moaning and whimpering and a little painfully breathless and it’s still so _good_.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” is Jongdae’s breathless praise as he thrusts into Chanyeol unrelentingly, his grip on Chanyeol’s hip strong and firm and dominating.

It makes Chanyeol want to preen. He positions his hip higher, clenches even tighter around Jongdae’s cock and wiggles his ass in rapid succession even if it’s a little hard to do with his tiring legs. Jongdae ramming hard into him in response is definitely worth the energy.

“Jongdae,” Chanyeol moans, into his shirt still, ignoring the painful throbbing of his own neglected cock and instead pushing back into the press of Jongdae’s cock against his prostrate.

“Fuck, Chanyeol. You’re fucking amazing,” Jongdae tells him, caressing Chanyeol’s sides with his hands, the movement gentle and caring in the midst of everything.

When Jongdae comes, Chanyeol shudders at the strong surge of cum flowing into him and comes, too, embarrassingly untouched, completely sated. Jongdae drags it out for both of them, rocking slowly until Chanyeol is slumping onto the bed, spent and content.

Chanyeol is about to close his eyes to the temptation of sleep until he realises that Jongdae hasn’t pulled out.

“Jongdae,” Chanyeol mutters, making to pull away.

Jongdae holds him still by the hip. “I can’t. You need to wait for it to shrink.”

Chanyeol cranes his neck to look at Jongdae properly. He’s in a much better condition now, not quite as debauched as he looked previously, and Chanyeol smiles up at him, feeling a little ridiculous.

“I know this is too much to take in all at once but,” Jongdae says softly, one of his hands smoothing down Chanyeol’s back gently, “thank you, for today.”

Chanyeol falls into slumber before Jongdae pulls out. When he wakes up the next morning, he’s rather confused to open his eyes to complete blackness before he pulls his shirt away from where it’s been thrown over his face. Chanyeol is curled in Jongdae’s bed and Jongdae is curled behind him. There’s a mild itch at the tip of his nose and inside his nostrils. When Chanyeol shifts and turns to face Jongdae, Jongdae wakes up.

“G’morning,” Jongdae mumbles into his comforter, his hair a huge mess and his face puffy and yet he still is, as much as Chanyeol is concerned, the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“Good morning, sleepy head.” Chanyeol uses his own shirt to pat down Jongdae’s unruly hair, scratches lightly at one of Jongdae’s adorable ears.

Jongdae hums. “About yesterday.”

“About yesterday,” Chanyeol repeats in question, waiting patiently as Jongdae blinks blearily at him.

“I was in heat,” Jongdae explains, smiling softly, the ends of his mouth two perfect curls and his beauty marks decorating his otherwise untainted face perfectly.

“In heat?” Chanyeol asks, only a little confused. He’s still mesmerized by Jongdae’s face, the full lashes and his pink, pink lips, dry from sleep but no less enticing.

Jongdae hums, a second time, in affirmation. “Minseok was in heat the day he went home drunk with Lu Han. Lu Han helps him satiate his heat because he doesn’t have a mate. Yifan is a cat hybrid. He’s Junmyeon’s mate. Jongin hasn’t matured enough to have his first heat.”

It really is a lot to take in.

“Okay,” Chanyeol says, slowly, suddenly awake and fully attentive. “Are we- Are we mates?”

The low chuckle that Jongdae lets out is melodious in Chanyeol’s ears, something he stores in his mind to retrieve when he needs inspiration on his music next time. “No.”

Chanyeol frowns, the confusion coming back again. “Why?”

“Because you’re human,” Jongdae says, smiling softly. Chanyeol feels warmth spread in his chest in a pleasant hum. “Mates aren’t necessary. I don’t need a mate to stay alive. I don’t need a mate when I have you.”

“What are we, then?”

Jongdae curls an arm around Chanyeol and wiggles closer until they’re chest to chest, until Jongdae is the only thing Chanyeol sees. And he doesn’t mind. “I’d like to think we’re lovers.”

Chanyeol hums, dipping down to kiss Jongdae. “I like that.”

 

 

“Oh my god,” Baekhyun gasps, dramatically.

Chanyeol tears his gaze from the television to face Baekhyun. “What?”

Chanyeol is sure the look of both disgust and amusement on Baekhyun’s face that he can see even under the dim lighting isn’t a good sign. “You smell so disgustingly like Jongdae. And I’ve only ever met Jongdae and caught of his smell once.”

Chanyeol turns back to the television. “Shut up, Baekhyun.”

“If I were Jongdae, I bet you would’ve said _louder_ ,” Baekhyun says, in the most revoltingly inappropriate way possible.

Chanyeol hurls a handful of popcorns at him. As always, Kyungsoo is just glad to join in with anything that is involved in making Baekhyun’s day even the slightest more miserable.

 

 

“Chanyeol!”

Chanyeol stops in his track to find Sehun peering at him from the receptionist desk.

“Hi, Sehun,” Chanyeol greets him, shifting the weight of his grocery bag from one hand to the other.

“I’ve got good news for you,” Sehun announces delightedly, the bright smile on his face matching the bright blonde on his hair. “The tenant at the end of the second floor will be moving out in a couple of weeks. If you’re still considering moving into a new unit, I can-”

“I’ll be in my room,” cuts Sehun off as Jongdae skips past, grabbing Chanyeol’s left butt in a tight squeeze as he does so, before making his way up the stairs.

Chanyeol watches as the grocery bag in Jongdae’s grip sways left and right, in rhythm with the enticing swing of his tail. He feels the weight of his own grocery bag in his hand, feels the hot creep of a blush up his neck, feels Sehun watching him, sees the inquiring rise of a perfect brow when he turns to face the young man.

“I won’t ask,” is Sehun’s brief reply as he decidedly looks back down to his laptop.

Chanyeol shifts between his two feet, hugs the grocery bag to his chest because his fingers are starting to cramp. A tiny part of him feels like he owes Sehun an explanation, but Sehun’s eyes are glued to his laptop resolutely and he makes no move to take any further notice of Chanyeol, so Chanyeol turns and makes his way up the stairs.

After all, he has Jongdae waiting for him.


End file.
